Give Me Love
by JamesLuver
Summary: Modern AU. Glimpses into Anna and John's relationship as they deal with highs and lows, together as Team Bates.
1. Have you ever thought about us?

**A/N:** These were started a few weeks back after I hit a follower milestone on Tumblr. I originally had no intention of posting them here, but I received several messages asking me if I could for better ease of access, so I decided to after all. It also gives me the opportunity to tweak a few things here and there, though they will remain largely unchanged.

All of these 'drabbles' (some are a little long to qualify) take place in the same universe. I am posting them here in the same order that I received the requests on Tumblr, but if you'd prefer to read them in a chronological manner, then you will need to read them in this order: **eight** , **one** , **two** , **seven** , **four** , **six** , **five** , **nine** , and **three**.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own _Downton Abbey_.

* * *

 _Give Me Love_

 _annambates requested, "Have you ever thought about…like…us?"_

* * *

This wasn't John's first choice of an evening well spent, but lovesick fool that he was, he hadn't been able to resist saying yes to Anna's invitation to the local pub for a few drinks on her birthday. Not that he was drinking. He was spending his time watching everyone else drinking instead. Hardly his idea of fun, but Anna was enjoying herself. Her cheeks were rosy from the couple of glasses of wine that she'd had, and her laughter was full-throated and happy. He was sitting beside her, and she kept leaning into him, though he was sure it was inadvertent more than anything. Still, he enjoyed the firmness of her thigh against his, and the sexy scent of her perfume. And while it wasn't his cup of tea, being with her was enough.

Until this. Until he'd slipped outside for a sneaky cigarette after a trip to the loo to find that Joseph Molesley had coaxed Anna outside with him. He backed up a bit, ducking round the corner. Eavesdropping wasn't usually his style—it was something deplorable that Thomas Barrow would do—but he was morbidly curious. More frightened than he dared give agency to.

Because he knew what Joseph was doing. He was telling Anna that he had feelings for her. John had known that the other man had been sweet on her for a while, but he'd hoped that his warning that there was someone special in Anna's life, albeit a secret admirer, would be enough to deter him.

Apparently not.

He pressed himself closer to the wall. He watched. He listened.

Anna tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "What did you want to talk to me about, Joe?"

Joseph cleared his throat. "I was wondering if I could ask you a question."

"Of course you can. You can ask me anything."

Anna was smiling at him. John found that he couldn't look away, no matter how much he wanted to. Was that a twinkle of pure affection in her eyes? It had been a prospect too awful to consider, but perhaps Joseph _was_ the man that Anna had spoken about at Christmas.

Joseph shifted from foot to foot. His voice came out squeaky as he stumbled over his words. "We've…we've known each other for quite some time now."

"Two years," she agreed. "It's gone quickly."

"Yes. It's been a wonderful two years. It's just…I…we…"

"Joe? Are you all right?"

""Have you ever thought about…like…us?" he blurted at last. John could see that his ears had gone bright red.

For a moment, it appeared that Anna was wrong-footed. Her smile had slipped, and her arms had leapt to wrap around herself, one of the sure signs that she was uncomfortable with the conversation. John felt as if he had jumped to conclusions.

"What?" she stuttered.

Now that his feelings were out in the open, it seemed that Joseph had gained his confidence. "I've liked you for a long time, Anna. You're lovely. I know you're far too good for me, but I think we could be good together, if you'd give me the chance."

"Oh, Joseph," she sighed. "I'm very flattered, of course."

Joseph wilted, his shoulders slumping forward. "There's a 'but', isn't there?"

"I like you a lot. You've always been a great friend to me. But…but that's all I feel. You're a very good friend. I'm sorry if I've led you on to believe that there could be more. I'm sorry I can't give you what you want."

"It's not your fault," he protested at once. "It's just that…you've always been so kind to me, I thought there might be a chance."

"I'm afraid not," she said delicately, as if her tone of voice might soften the blow.

"Never mind, then," said Joseph, in a real effort to sound less than crushed. "Would you just answer me one more question?"

"Yes," Anna said immediately, clearly wanting to soothe him in any way possible. John felt sorry for her. Causing pain to someone never sat well with her, and this had to be one of the most awful situations for anyone.

"Is it because there's someone in your life?"

This seemed to catch her off-guard. "What?"

"Oh, well…it's just that John Bates said that there was someone special in your life who was very keen on you, and that's why I shouldn't speak out…"

John winced, slumping back against the wall. Well, damn. He certainly hadn't been intending for _that_ to get back to her. That pretty much revealed his heart to her, after he'd spent so long concealing his feelings because he didn't want to drag her down when he knew there was a better life for her out there. A life with the man she had professed to wanting. Bloody Joseph Molesley.

He was so caught up in his self-berating that he almost missed her answer, but his ears pricked up at her whispering. His heart thundered in his chest as he leaned forward as much as he dared.

"Yes. Yes, there is someone. I'm sorry it had to come to this, Joseph, honestly."

"You shouldn't apologise. I don't want to know who he is…but I hope he knows that he's a very lucky bloke."

Anna laughed a little bitterly. "Do you know what, I can't tell if he knows or not." She'd said almost the same words to him, all those months ago.

"Oh. Well." Joseph cleared his throat again. "I should be getting back inside. Thank you for your honesty."

"You're welcome."

There was a brief pause before Joseph reached out to shake her hand. It was quick and awkward, and he all but ran back inside, no doubt to drown his sorrows. Anna didn't follow.

John remained rooted to the spot. His mind buzzed. There was someone special in Anna's life. He thought of all the time they spent together, the way she always sought him out, the way they brushed against each other more often than was necessary. The barely-there kiss that she'd brushed across his mouth under the cold stars at Robert and Cora's place when she'd had a little too much to drink, the Christmas songs faint in the air.

Dare he hope that she might feel the same way he did? That _he_ was the man that Anna had been referring to at Christmas?

Taking a deep breath, John strolled round the corner as casually as he could. He tried to feign surprise as she came into his line of vision.

"Anna?" he said. "Is there something wrong?"

"I just needed some air," she replied.

"Can I join you?"

"By all means."

He limped to her side, standing close. Now he was here, he could see the deep frown lines on her face, the pensive scrunch of her lips. He felt guilty, suddenly, for his own selfishness.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes," she said. "I just…I had a rather unexpected conversation. It got me thinking."

"About what?" he asked tentatively.

"About bravery. About seizing the moment. Would you say that that was a good thing to do?"

"It depends," he said carefully. "If it feels right, then I would say yes."

Anna fell quiet, but she didn't take her eyes from his face. John found himself mesmerised by the fire in those blue depths.

"Can I ask you another question?"

"Yes," he managed.

Anna bit her lip, then drew herself to her full height, looking him square in the face with defiance. "Have you ever thought about…us?"

It took his breath away. All of his dreams were coming true in the space of a few seconds. He had fought his feelings for her for so long, and to hear her say those words to him, so confident, so unashamed, was almost more than he could take.

He'd hidden his feelings deep inside, frightened that she felt the same, frightened that she didn't. Frightened that he could never live up to what she deserved. But now, hearing her speak so boldly broke something icy and dead inside him. His heart lurched, almost as if it was trying to leave his chest and join with hers. He should say no, but he couldn't form the word.

"Yes," he breathed. "So very, very often."

His fear was completely eclipsed by Anna's smile, the purest, brightest one he had ever seen. He felt a fool for cowering from it for so long, when he could have been privy to it so much earlier.

"Thank God for that," she sighed. "Because I've been thinking about it a lot too."

"Is there some reason why you're asking…?" he said, needing to hear her confirm it aloud.

She didn't answer him with words this time, but with the crush of her lips against his, her arms around his shoulders, the soft sound of want in the back of her throat.

It was the best answer she could have given him.


	2. The stars look lovely tonight

_annambates also requested, "The stars look especially lovely tonight."_

* * *

All week, John had been in a strange mood, jumpy and secretive. Anna simply couldn't fathom it. She wasn't missing any anniversaries pertaining to them. While they'd been dating for long enough that a proposal wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility, that didn't feel right either.

By Wednesday, Anna gave up trying to figure it out. She had other things on her mind.

Twenty three years ago today, her father had passed away. She could still remember the phone call that her mother had received, the anguished cry that had torn itself from her throat. She'd been almost too young to understand, a little girl of six. A steelworker, he had always worked hard to provide for his family, and his death had torn them apart. Anna would never forget crouching by the kitchen door while her mother and grandmother discussed it, discovering that his head had smashed like an egg against the floor. The description had brought such a vivid image to her mind that she'd been sick right there, giving herself away, and it was forever burned into her memory. She still sometimes had nightmares about it, waking up drenched in sweat.

It was much easier than it had been at the beginning, of course, but it still weighed heavy on her throughout the day. By the time she got home from work, all she wanted to do was pull on her comfiest pyjamas and curl up on the sofa. John, much to her surprise and irritation, seemed to have other plans.

"You never want to go out," she groused. "Why today all of a sudden?"

"Can't a man have a change of heart?"

"Yes, but _I_ don't feel like it tonight. We'll go tomorrow."

He pouted at her. "Please. We won't be long, I promise."

Scowling, she relented, and he bundled her into the car. They were silent for most of the journey, Anna not in the mood to talk and still more than a little bit angry that he was being so insensitive to her wishes, but as they drove further and further out into the countryside, her curiosity was piqued.

"John," she asked at last, forced to break her vow of silence, "where are we going?"

"You'll see," was the cryptic reply, and he would say no more than that.

She didn't have to wait long to see. A few more miles down the road, John pulled off onto the grassy verge and turned off the ignition.

"We're here," he said simply.

Anna gazed out. All that surrounded them was a field. "Where exactly is 'here'?"

John didn't answer, reaching over to the back seat and grabbing a bundle before clambering out of the car. He rounded it to her side and opened the door, extending his hand for her to take. It was then that she realised that the bundle was a blanket.

Wordlessly, he led her into the field, letting go of her hand so that he could smooth the blanket out. He lowered himself gingerly, the old war wound obviously twinging, and she took her place beside him, settling herself against his shoulder when he opened his arm for her. She still didn't have a clue what any of this meant, but there was something soothing about being out in the open, under the vast heavens.

"The stars look especially lovely tonight," John said at length.

"They do," Anna agreed softly. "I've always loved them." She turned her head slightly, so that she could see his face better. "Will you please tell me what this is about now?"

"I thought you might have got it."

She shook her head. John took her right hand in his, extending their arms up in front of them as he folded her fingers until only her index pointed right up above their heads.

"What are these?" he asked softly, making shapes with the twinkling points.

"Stars," she said, and then the realisation hit her. Her left hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God."

Because they were lying together on an old blanket, taking in the world above them. Stargazing. She'd loved stargazing as a small child. It had been her activity with her dad, her small body tucked close to his, him holding her hand just like John was now and tracing Orion's Belt and pointing out Sirius while she stared in wide-eyed wonder at all the beauty that lay before her. They'd done it weekly, just the two of them, and it had come to an abrupt, cruel end with his passing, the recollections painful. She'd told John about it a long time ago, pressed naked against him in the comforting darkness, the words feeling right as they'd spilled from her lips, like being cleansed after a confession. She didn't think he would have remembered such a trivial detail from her childhood. And yet here she was, more than twenty years on, with a different man, and the faded joy came flooding back, just as the tears filled her eyes.

John had turned to look at her, and now he pushed himself up a little, concern lining his face. "Anna, are you all right? I'm sorry if I did wrong bringing you here. Should we go?"

She shook her head fiercely, her voice shaking a little. "No, let's stay. It's lovely, I just…I wasn't expecting it."

"I would never want to replace the memories you made with your dad," he told her earnestly. "I don't want to compete. But I thought this could be a nice way to remember him today. I don't know if he would have liked me or thought me good enough for you, but I would like the opportunity to get to know him with you. You can teach me what he passed on to you, and then maybe we can get an astrology book and learn more together, in his memory. Only if it's something you want, though."

Anna looked up into his anxious face. It all made sense now. He'd been planning this all week, meticulously organising a way to help her commemorate her father's passing. He couldn't have come up with a better one. She wound her left arm around his neck and pulled him down so she could kiss him. John smiled at last, settling down beside her once more. She moved their joined hands back to where they'd been before, and began to repeat the stories that she'd been told so long ago.

She knew that if her father was looking down on them now, he'd be smiling.


	3. I promise, it's just this once

_froggattcoyles and skeeter0003 requested, "I promise, it's just this once."_

* * *

"Daddy, I hate this thing! I'm not wearing it."

John looked away from his reflection, where he was meticulously knotting his tie, to find his son cross-legged on the floor, elbows on his knees as he scowled fiercely up at him. He sighed.

"You've got to, mate," he said. "It's part and parcel, I'm afraid."

Jack scrunched up his nose. "But I _hate_ it! It feels like it's choking me!"

John stooped with a wince, sliding two fingers beneath the collar on his son's shirt. "There's plenty of room inside. You're not going to choke."

"I look silly."

"You look handsome. Don't you want Mummy to coo over you?"

"I'm too old for that soppy stuff," Jack said. "I'm not a baby anymore."

John stretched back to his full height and turned around to hide his smile. At eight, Jack was far from grown up, and with his blonde hair and blue eyes and cherubic cheeks, he still looked every inch the baby. More than that, despite his insistence, he still liked to crawl into bed with them when he'd had a nightmare, and hadn't quite got out of the habit of calling them mummy and daddy yet. His insistence to the contrary was endearing.

"All right," he said nonchalantly. "But how about we humour Mummy just this once? She wants us both to look smart and handsome for her. We love her, don't we?"

"Of course," said Jack, looking affronted.

"Well, then. We should always try to make her happy, and today this will make her very happy. I promise, it's just this once. A few short hours, and then you never have to wear it ever again. Do we have a deal?"

"I guess…" Jack sighed.

"How about we shake on it, man to man?"

Reluctantly, Jack extended his small hand, and John took it, giving it a firm shake, his heart swelling at how his hand completely eclipsed his son's.

When he was ready, John checked Jack out, straightening his waistcoat and smoothing down his little jacket. He let his son have a squirt of aftershave, and combed his hair through, tweaking his tie. And then they were ready to leave.

They met Robert in Ripon. He grinned broadly when he saw the two of them.

"Well, don't you two cut a fine picture," he said, bringing out his camera to snap one.

"I don't like it," Jack told his godfather.

"You look good, though. Remember, Jacky, women love a well-dressed man."

"I think we can leave that for many years down the line," John grumbled, laying a protective hand on Jack's shoulder.

"Hark at you. If you're like that with your son, I dread to think what you'll be like with your daughters!"

He bit back an uncouth response, mindful of Jack, and changed the subject. "Are they here yet?"

"What do you think? Don't tell me you were scared she'd bail."

"Of course I'm not. But she could have been held up."

"Ah, your dad's ever the optimist, isn't he? Everyone's waiting for you. Go on in and see for yourself."

John's heart started to pound a little faster as they moved towards the building that Robert had been standing in front of.

"Your palm's all sweaty, Daddy," Jack said helpfully. "Do you need this napkin you put in my pocket?"

"No, that's all right. Keep it right where it is, son."

"Your dad's just a bit nervous. Heavens knows why."

"It makes no sense to me," said Jack. "How can you do it when you've done it before?"

"Some people like to promise themselves again. Your dad's an old romantic."

"Mummy and Daddy are always romantic. It's disgusting. All that kissing makes me want to be sick." Jack mimed gagging, and John rolled his eyes, smiling reluctantly. His son was quite the character, and so were his daughters.

And speaking of his daughters, there they were, standing with Cora.

"Daddy!" they squealed in unison when they saw him, slipping free and launching themselves at his legs. John released Jack's hand so he could wrap an arm around each of them, keeping them close.

"So you missed your old dad yesterday, eh?" he said teasingly.

"Yes!" said Jasmine, squeezing his legs tighter, her dark eyes glowing. Mia followed suit, copying her every move. At six and three respectively, they were the apple of his eye. So utterly, utterly perfect.

Cora said, "They wanted to see you before I took them in."

"I'm glad," said John, bent low despite the flash of pain in his knee so he could kiss them both. "Were you good for Mummy?"

"We had a good girls' night," Jasmine informed him. "We ate lots and lots of chocolate and Aunt Mary painted our nails. Look!"

They thrust their fingers in his face, and he chuckled at the pale blue that matched their dresses. "Very pretty. Jack and I had a good time too. We watched football and did manly things, didn't we? But we missed you girls like mad."

Jasmine and Mia beamed up at him, and Cora stepped forward, taking them both by the hands once more.

"We should go in now," she said. "They're all waiting."

"Best of luck, mate," said Robert, clapping him on the shoulders. "Come on, Jack."

John watched his family walk away, taking a deep breath to steady himself. And then he followed, his cane tapping loudly.

Every eye in the room swivelled to watch him at once. It was filled with friends and a smattering of family, but John only had eyes for the woman standing at the end of the aisle, wearing a simple dress that brought out the colour of her eyes, wisps of golden hair framing her face, grinning from ear to ear. His darling Anna. His gorgeous wife.

He was concerned that his legs might give out beneath him before he reached her side, they were shaking that badly, but thankfully he made it to her without showing himself up. She slipped her hand into his at once, squeezing it tight.

"You're late," she whispered. "I always thought it was the man's job to wait for the woman."

"Sorry. Your son was not happy about wearing the suit."

"He looks gorgeous. Just as gorgeous as you."

"And you. You look exquisite," he told her, smoothing his thumb over her wrist bone. "I love you so much, Anna May Bates."

"I love you too, John."

The registrar called for quiet then, and they stood to attention, so very proud, basking in the reverent hush that had fallen over the place. The Crawleys were beaming. John's mother, just shy of her ninetieth birthday, was dabbing at her eyes, though her sight, unfortunately, was almost gone. Anna's mum looked no less emotional, which was a surprise. Of course, she had missed out on seeing her daughter marry him the first time because their relationship had been beyond repair at that point.

Fourteen years of friendship, twelve years of togetherness, ten years of marriage, three children, and a small bump prominent at the front of her dress—another boy, to be named for her father—had all led to this moment. A renewal of their wedding vows, a reaffirmation of the strength and longevity of their love, a reminder of all that they had built together.

He had always thought them one person, two halves of the same soul, no matter how corny that sounded, and, glancing back to see the proof of their love squirming a little restlessly in their seats on the front row with the closest of their friends and family while they were blessed once again, John had never felt more complete.


	4. You can't ask me to do that

**A/N:** I don't pretend to have any kind of medical knowledge, so details may be fast and loose here.

* * *

 _skeeter0003 also requested, "You can't ask me to do that."_

* * *

It was gone eight in the evening. Anna had been pacing the floor in the cold accident and emergency lounge for more than a whole hour, and she was still no nearer to finding out how John was than she had been when she had first received that awful, soul-destroying phone call that had informed her that John had been involved in an accident. A car crash. A hit-and-run that had left him just about aware enough to call for an ambulance himself, but not enough to identify what had happened. She'd been planning a romantic evening in, and now she was here. She checked her watch for the millionth time.

His mother sat straight and still as stone on one of the little plastic chairs, clenching in wizened hands a polystyrene cup of tea that had gone cold long ago. She looked as if she had aged ten years in the interim hours since Anna had called round for her, reduced to a frightened old lady.

"He's going to be all right," she said every so often, her old Irish voice wavering. "I know my boy's going to be all right. You'll see."

It was for her own benefit more than it was for Anna's.

Scrubbing a hand over her face, Anna moved back towards the seats, taking the one next to her. She reached out and gently prised the tea from her brittle grip and replaced it with her hand. John's mother's hand was paper-thin, the pale blue veins standing out sharply as she tightened her hold. They waited together in a united agony.

What seemed like an eternity later, a tired-looking doctor poked his head in. "Mrs. Bates?"

John's mother sprang to her feet. She was off at once, moving like a woman half her age. Anna followed swiftly behind. The doctor raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'm Anna Smith, John's girlfriend," she panted. His best friend, his lover, the woman he shared everything with. She wished she could say wife, to mark her place in his life properly.

"Very well," said the doctor, looking between them both. "I'm Doctor Clarkson. Follow me."

"Is my Johnny all right?" his mother persisted all the way down the long corridor. "I need to know how my boy is."

Doctor Clarkson sighed. "I'll be honest with you, Mrs. Bates, your son needs emergency treatment. The impact of the crash shattered his knee, and the damage could be extensive. Even irreparable."

"Which knee?" Anna asked fiercely. "Not the right?"

"Yes, the right," Doctor Clarkson confirmed. "There appears to be signs of damage from the past, which has greatly weakened the joint, and I believe that that's made it worse."

"He was in the army when he was a lad," said his mother. "He was discharged on medical grounds when he was injured abroad." Her eyes filled with tears. "It can't be happening again. It can't."

"I can't give you any absolutions at this point," said Doctor Clarkson. "All I can do is assure you that he's in the best possible place. And that is the worst of his injuries. Mr. Bates is understandably in a lot of pain, but there's no sign of concussion or other brain damage, which is why we've been holding off on operating, just to make sure. He was conscious and able to communicate, though obviously he isn't in the best place right now. My advice to you is to go home, get some sleep, and return refreshed in the morning. We won't be delaying on the operation any longer, but you can find out how it went tomorrow. It will probably take quite some time."

"Out of the question," said his mother. "We'll stay right where we were." She was moving into her late seventies, but the fierce spark in her eyes was that of a young woman's. Anna knew it would be difficult for her to spend all night on those horrible plastic seats, but she was a mother bear. She would not leave her cub all alone, even if he was a fully grown man.

"Mrs. Bates, I assure you that we'd let you know the moment anything changed—"

"No," she repeated, more sharply this time. "When are you taking him down to surgery?"

"He'll be prepared in a few minutes."

"Then let me see him. Please."

The doctor gazed at her for a moment, before relenting with a sigh. "Very well. But only for a moment. We don't want to distress him, and we need to get on."

They'd come to a stop outside a private hospital room. Doctor Clarkson repeated his warning of a few minutes only, and stood to the side. With a gnarled, shaking hand, John's mother pushed open the door, and Anna shadowed her.

John was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He did not move when they entered. Anna's throat closed over.

"Son," his mother said softly, moving forward. "Son."

Anna held back while the older woman took hold of her boy's hand, letting her have a few moments in privacy. John was the only child that she had ever borne, and she had loved him long before anyone else had. It was only right that she be allowed a little time with him.

But John wasn't responding, stiff and unmoving. Anna could hear tears in his mother's voice as she said uncertainly, "Johnny, darling, talk to me."

"Wait outside, Mother," he told her, his voice clipped and emotionless. "I need a word with Anna."

Anna shared a wary look with his mother, but the old woman did as she'd been bid. When the door clicked closed behind her, Anna moved forward, trying to prepare herself for what she was going to see.

Nothing could have done so.

John's face was grazed and bruised, his dark eyes made darker by the hollow circles around them. There was a nasty cut at his hairline, dried blood spreading like a fissure over his skin. She couldn't see his knee below the sheets, but the blood had soaked through. Her vision went black around the edges, but she fought off the faintness, leaning heavily against the bed as she swallowed hard. Tears sprang.

"Oh, Christ," she said, reaching out for a scabbed hand. "Oh, my sweetheart."

He jerked away from her touch, his voice hard. "I'm not your sweetheart. Not anymore."

The icy feeling started in the back of her head, spreading right through her body as her stomach lurched like she was going to be sick. "What are you talking about? Of course you are."

"I'm not," he repeated coldly. "It's over. You need to go now."

"No," she said fiercely. "I'm not going anywhere. You're not in your right state of mind. You can't ask me to do that. You don't know what you're saying."

"I'm asking you to leave. I'm telling you that we're finished." John's face was red, beads of sweat rolling down his face. The pain was obviously awful. "Don't you understand? I may never walk again."

"I'm sure the doctor's very hopeful—"

"They say that to keep your spirits up," he told her flatly. "I've been here before. I know how it works. I know how I feel. I'll be a useless cripple. I will not make you into a nurse."

"It's my choice to make!"

"No, it's not," he snapped. "I've been a burden in the past. I never will again. _Never_."

"You could never be a burden to me!"

But he'd stopped listening, she could tell in the way that his gaze had slid from hers. His jaw was set, a muscle ticking. His stony expression was foreign on his usually soft face. It did not suit him. He was a stranger before her.

"Go," he said again, his voice like a shot of venom.

The door opened behind her.

"Miss Smith," came Doctor Clarkson's Scottish brogue. "You need to leave now."

Anna lingered, but only for a moment more. John did not turn to look at her. Feeling as if weights were tied to her wrists and ankles, she dragged herself out of the room. Her head buzzed. This wasn't real. It couldn't be.

His mother was upon her as soon as she emerged into the corridor.

"What did he want?" she asked frantically. "What did he say?"

Anna stared at her dear old face for a moment before saying blankly, "We're over."

And then the turbulent emotion of the day caught up with her, and she collapsed against the stout old lady's body, sobbing and sobbing into her shoulder as she patted her back in utter bewilderment.

She'd thought that they were unshakeable, that nothing could ever come between them. She'd thought that she knew him intimately well, that she knew his heart better than she knew her own. And yet in one dark twist, fate had yanked it all from her hands, and now she was freefalling through space without knowing what she would look like at the end of it. She'd been shattered before, had only ever been fully glued back together by his loving hands.

And now those same hands were breaking her all over again.


	5. My mum is coming over in ten minutes

**A/N:** There is a trigger warning for mentions of child abuse. I hope I have handled the topic sensitively.

* * *

 _miss-ute requested, "My parents are coming over in ten minutes so please put some clothes on."_

* * *

Ever since arranging the meeting, Anna had been a restless, on-edge wreck. Normally so sweet tempered, she'd snapped at him several times and spent a lot of time brooding inside her own head. He'd tried to coax her out of it by teasing that that was _his_ territory, but that had only earned him a glare that had sent him scurrying back to the depths of his book.

He understood why she was so prickly, of course. After what her stepfather had done to her, and the choices that her mother had consequently made, he could understand why she would never want to see her again. He wasn't sure that he wanted to meet Mrs. Smith, either. He didn't know if he'd be able to hold his tongue. That was one thing, he supposed. He didn't need to worry about making a good impression.

He'd woken that morning to find the bed cold. He'd gone downstairs to find Anna staring out of the little cottage window at the pretty little garden. They'd hired the place for the week, a retreat outside their home at Downton. Anna had been adamant that her family would not know the precise location of where she lived. She'd grown up from the frightened little girl she'd been, and she was all the stronger because of it, but John knew from experience that the fear never quite disappeared. His knee tingled, as if in agreement. He knew that Vera could no longer hurt him from where she was behind bars, but that didn't mean that he still didn't feel anxiety every time he had to get into a car, or that the end of her prison sentence, creeping ever closer, wouldn't set him back all over again.

He'd succeeded in coaxing her back to bed, his mouth worshipping her body and claiming victory in taking her mind away from the potential storm on the horizon. Afterwards, she'd curled as close as possible to him, and he'd fallen back to sleep with her warm breath in his ear, her body tucked into the protective circle of his arms.

Now he was woken by an insistent prodding. Blinking owlishly, he came to in the unfamiliar surroundings, to find that Anna was no longer naked beside him, but fully clothed at the end of the bed. Light flooded the room. He'd slept later than he'd intended to.

"'S'time?" he muttered.

"Twenty past nine. My mum is coming over in ten minutes, so please put some clothes on."

"Remind me again why we asked her so early?" he groused, not making to move.

"We did it so that we could get it over and done with. Like pulling off a plaster. Then we've got the rest of the week to enjoy ourselves as we please."

"I like the sound of that." He reached out, catching her wrist.

"Not now," she scolded. "You can have me any way you want later, but I'm the furthest thing from in the mood right now."

"I think I could change that," he said, moving to kiss the spot behind her ear that always made her wilt. She pulled away, fixing him with a glare.

"Out of bed," she ordered. "You've got time for the world's quickest shower if you can be done in two minutes. I'll not give Mum a reason to criticise."

Suitably chastened, John knew she was right. He pushed the quilt back and made his way to the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the cupboard en route.

Standing under the hot spray and soaping himself up, John brooded over the meeting that was ahead of them. Anna had always said very little about her family. She'd told him about her stepfather, of course, the sick bastard who had tried to touch her when she was just a young girl, but she tended to clam up the moment that he endeavoured to probe, and he respected her privacy, satisfied that the disgusting pervert hadn't raped her. How gruesome, how disturbing it was, that he had to be glad that it had gone no further than inappropriate touches on a child's developing body. John scrubbed his skin harder. He'd almost been sick the first time she'd confessed all. He'd had no idea, even in the two years that they'd been friends before lovers. She'd never mentioned a word to him, had kept it locked tightly within her heart. He'd never suspected that the woman who had always had such a lust for life could have such a dark and tragic past. Like was normal for the two of them, she'd revealed her heart piece by piece cloaked in darkness, naked in his arms, when they were both at their most vulnerable. He could still remember her slightly twisted smile as she'd said, _"You're not the only one who is broken, Mr. Bates,"_ , her tone of voice unusually flat.

He switched off the shower and towelled himself dry, wrapping it around his waist as he made his way back to the bedroom. Anna was staring out of the window again, a million miles away. He moved up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and tucking his head against her shoulder.

"Come back to me, love," he murmured. She let out a breath.

"Sorry," she muttered. "It's just…it's been years."

"Never apologise to me," he said, squeezing her tighter. "It's bound to get to you. What happened to you was despicable. You're braver than I ever would be, wanting to face her again."

Anna pressed back against him. "I can only do it because I have you."

"That's not true. You're the strongest person I know. If the need had arisen before, you could have done it."

She patted his hand absently. "And on that note, go and get dressed. I can't have her arriving to find you still in the nude."

"Maybe it would frighten her off," he deadpanned, tossing the towel aside as he rummaged for some clean boxers. He could feel her eyes on him.

"This is serious," she said.

"Of course it is. I'm sorry."

She inclined her head and he finished dressing quickly.

Just in the nick of time. They heard wheels, and a glance out the window showed them that Anna's mother was here. He felt Anna shudder.

"Hey, in this together, right?" he whispered to her. "Team Bates, always."

She seemed to take strength from that, standing up straighter. "You answer the door. Let her meet you. I'll wait in the living room. Then we can tell her."

"All right," he agreed, and they shared a quick, chaste kiss for moral support before heading downstairs. Anna peeled off towards the living room, and after checking his reflection one more time in the mirror in the hallway, John waited for the knock and answered the door.

The woman standing on the stoop was in her late fifties, small in stature like his wife, but with dark hair that was greying and dark eyes to match. Anna had clearly gained her pale looks from the Smith side of the family. The look Mrs. Smith—well, he supposed she hadn't been a Smith for a number of years—gave him was one of cold indifference.

"I'm looking for Anna," she said. "I believe this is the address she gave me."

"It is," John confirmed. He thought about offering his hand, but decided against it. "I'm John Bates."

She ran her gaze up and down him, lingering distastefully on his cane. "I see. The older man."

"Husband, actually," he corrected, with just the right amount of bite to make her blink.

"I sometimes forget these things, what with not being invited to the wedding."

John deigned not to reply, standing aside so the older woman could enter. There was little point arguing against that. Anna had not wanted her mum there, and in the end they had decided to make it a very private affair, his mother, Mary, and Robert as witnesses, and the man who had married them. She had rung Mrs. Smith after the event to give her the curtesy of knowing this major milestone in her life, but it had never gone beyond that.

He led the way into the sitting room. Anna had been sitting on the couch, but she rose at once. Mrs. Smith gazed at her flatly.

"Ah, now I see," she said.

Anna jutted her chin defiantly. Pride washed over him as he limped to her side and slipped his arm around her. He was glad that she wasn't wavering. He knew that this would not be easy for her. She'd told him that the last time she'd seen her mother was for a coffee on her twenty-first birthday, a morning so awkward that it had depressed her for the rest of the day. And now here they were, a decade later.

"That's right," she said. "I'm pregnant, Mum. I thought you had a right to know in person. Your first grandchild."

It was clear from her face that Mrs. Smith did not approve—likely of him, that he was becoming a father to Anna's children at what was regarded as past his prime. But at least she did not voice those thoughts. Instead she crossed the room and sank down stiffly onto the settee. If she thought that the room lacked any homely touches, she did not comment.

"How far gone are you?" she asked finally.

"Four months," Anna replied, her hand moving to cradle the little bump, the baby that they had created together making its presence known to the world.

"So you've found out the gender…?"

"Yes. A little boy. Perfectly healthy by the sounds of him." Anna turned to beam up at him, and he couldn't stop himself from moving to support her belly either, resting there protectively.

A son. They were having a son together. Even now, a week after finding out the sex, John's heart swelled with love and pride whenever he thought about it—which was frequently. Anna would be a wonderful mother. He knew that she was determined that she would never make the same mistakes that her mum had made with her, and John knew that there was nothing that either of them wouldn't do to keep their boy safe from harm.

Looking across at Mrs. Smith, he couldn't understand how anyone would choose to stay in a marriage where their children had been threatened, or could choose the abuser over the baby that they had brought into the world. It was true that some people _didn't_ have that choice, but it was clear from Mrs. Smith's attitude and demeanour that she wasn't the kind of person who would tolerate any kind of abuse. It made so little sense.

"We have a scan picture, if you'd like to see," he said quietly.

Mrs. Smith hesitated for only a moment. "That would be nice. Thank you."

Anna slipped from his embrace to rummage in her handbag. She brought it out and held it out for her mum to take. Both of their hands were trembling.

"I see," said Mrs. Smith, and for the first time there was a tremor of emotion in her voice. She stared down at the grainy photo, at the tiny blob that was her first grandchild. "Have you got any names in mind yet?"

"A few," said Anna. "We haven't made any concrete decisions. We're waiting until we're closer to the due date."

"I'll have to take you shopping, get a few baby bits in for you."

"Maybe," Anna said evenly. John could understand her guardedness and reluctance to commit to anything. Ten years was a long time to go without seeing someone. It would not be easy to build bridges after the tension that had dominated their relationship before. But at least Mrs. Smith was being civil. John had half-been expecting her to be condescending and sneery, to fall into an argument with her eldest daughter.

"I'll make some tea," he offered.

"Milk, no sugar," said Mrs. Smith. Anna nodded her consent, and he limped through to the kitchen. The snatches of conversation that he heard were stilted at best, but at least it was something. It was a starting point.

It would never be enough to thaw the relationship completely. At the Christening, John would see Mrs. Smith looking lost in a room of close friends who had been Anna's support network for years, setting foot in their house for the very first time, gazing at pictures of the two of them on their wedding day, of the shot of them kissing, of Anna draping her arms around his neck from behind, snugged close, of the pure love on their faces as they gazed down at little Jack, mere minutes old, forever captured in print, of the photo of Anna with her arms wrapped tight around his mother, the woman who had become the biggest female influence in her life since they had first met long before she'd started dating him. When they'd married, she'd asked her if she could start calling her mum too, something that his mother had been simply overwhelmed and honoured by. He'd wonder how Mrs. Smith felt when she could truly see how much she would never be able to get back, the memories that she had forever missed out on, the role that should have been hers being filled by another.

It wouldn't be until her step-father's passing that Anna would reluctantly allow her mother to have the children at her home overnight, at John's gentle encouragement, and very, very slowly, things would begin to soften. Never forgiven or forgotten, certainly never accepted, but put aside for the sake of the younger generation.

Time could not heal all wounds, but there were some things, like love and the innocence of children, that could begin the slow stitching process.


	6. It's probably a bad time, but marry me?

**A/N:** Again, my medical knowledge is pretty poor. I did a little research into this, and while I don't go into explicit details, there may well still be errors.

Although all of these ficlets are interconnected, this one is picks up right where "You can't ask me to do that" left off.

* * *

 _awesomegreentie requested, "This is probably a bad time, but marry me?"_

* * *

In the end, they didn't stay in the hospital for the night. It was John's mother who insisted on it, saying that Anna needed to get home and grab some rest, and that they could regroup in the morning.

Anna knew that there was no sleep to be had.

She dropped John's mother off at her home. The old lady stood uncertainly by the car, her face pale and drawn.

"Will…will I see you tomorrow?" she asked anxiously.

"Of course you will. Don't worry. I'll still take you to the hospital to see John. He may not want to see me anymore, but I'm not going to let you make your own way there." By the end of her sentence, her voice was cracking anew, and his mother's face was even more creased with worry as she reached through the open car door to hug her fiercely.

"Johnny doesn't mean it," she said. "He's not right in the head, drugged up with the pain. He doesn't mean it."

Anna could only smile weakly. If there was one thing she'd learnt over the years of knowing and loving John Bates, it was that he always meant what he said.

There was nothing else to do. After walking John's mother to the door as she always did, Anna made the short trip across town to her own flat. The place had never looked so lonely and uninviting. Numbly, she went about her nightly routines, slipping between cold sheets and staring into the darkness.

The tidal wave of grief hit her then, and she buried her head in the pillow that still smelled like him, muffling her sobs. Her whole body heaved with the strength of them. She cried to the point of exhaustion, and yet she still couldn't sleep. It was difficult to believe that this was the end, that despite how fiercely they loved each other, they were never going to have the future that Anna had started to envisage a long time ago.

When three o'clock in the morning neared, Anna dragged herself out of bed and made herself a cup of cocoa. Sitting with the mug cradled between her palms at the kitchen table, she rubbed at her temples. However callous he had been, it did not shut off the valve to her brain that made her love him. He could not stop her worrying about him, or fearing for him with the horrors he was likely suffering right at this very moment.

Fear.

And, just like that, the way was illuminated to her. Springing to her feet so quickly that the chair toppled over backwards and landed with a resounding bang, she raced back to the bedroom without even bothering to pick it up. Once there, she ferreted through her jewellery box until she found what she was looking for, staring down at the small circle in the palm of her hand.

She knew what she had to do now.

* * *

She called around for John's mother early the next morning. She looked like she hadn't slept a wink either, and Anna fussed over her as she slid into the car.

"You don't need to do that," she said. She was clutching a basket in her old hands, likely filled with all of John's favourite things.

"Of course I do," said Anna. "I know you're John's mum, but you're important to me too, and I know he likes to think you're being looked after."

"And you're John's girl," his mother replied softly. "I know what he said, but he loves you, dear. I know he does."

She took a deep breath. "I've rather a favour to ask of you, if you don't mind."

"Anything," the old lady said at once.

"Could I monopolise John, just for five minutes? I know what he said, but I can't accept it. Not without seeing him one last time."

His mother reached across and patted her knee. "I wouldn't want any less. Of course you can see him first. I can wait outside."

"I don't want to hog the visiting time," she said earnestly. "You deserve to see him more than anyone. But I just…I need…"

"No need to fret, dear. You're the one I need to thank for my boy being so happy."

Anna smiled, and fired up the ignition. The journey to the hospital was made in silence. They enquired at the front desk about John, and were directed to the ward where he was being kept. Doctor Clarkson was waiting for them. He ushered them into a small office and gestured for them to sit. They both declined politely.

"I won't beat around the bush," he said. "The operation was successful. We have managed to reconstruct the kneecap. Mr. Bates will walk again, but it will take time and effort. He has a difficult road ahead of him, and he's going to need every ounce of support that he can get, because he won't navigate this alone."

If there was any sign that Anna needed to confirm that she was doing the right thing, that was it. When the doctor had finished talking, he led them to John's private room.

"He might not be in the best mood for talking," he warned them gently. Anna suspected that he'd come across that fact first hand. "He's very angry at the world at the moment. Try not to take anything to heart."

Anna had already determined that she wouldn't. John's mother nodded at her and moved to take one of the plastic seats on the corridor. Anna took a deep breath, pushed back her shoulders, and stepped inside.

John was lying prostrate on the bed, his sickly features shocking beneath his dark hair. At the sound of her entry he turned his head slightly towards her. The set of his jaw didn't deter her.

"I told you to go away," he growled at her. "I don't want to see you again."

"I don't think you can do much about that right now," she said lightly, pulling a chair over.

"You might be getting a good laugh out of this, but it's not funny to me," he snapped.

"I don't think it's funny. It's the furthest thing from funny."

"Why did you come back?"

"I didn't want your mum to have to deal with a taxi or public transport. She's outside, out of her mind with worry for you. I asked her to give me just a moment of your time before she comes in. There are a few things that I want to say while it's just us two, if you'll allow me to. It won't take much of your time."

He nodded imperceptibly, a grudging acceptance, likely knowing that he couldn't do much else. Anna drew her chair closer, taking a second to formulate the words in her head before pressing on.

"I know you better than anyone else, John. _Anyone else_. I know that you still sometimes have a sneaky fag if you think you can get away with it. You chew so many peppermints to try and get rid of the taste, but I know when I kiss you. I just never say anything. I know that you like to sleep with me in your arms because it's the only way you sleep for more than an hour at a time. I know that when you can't sleep you stroke your fingers through my hair because it soothes you. I know that just yesterday morning we made love in your bed and you said you never wanted to leave. I know that you're still haunted by the things you saw in Afghanistan, even though you put on a brave front for everyone else. I know that you have anxieties about relationships because Vera screwed with your head, and I know that Vera saw you as worthless when you were injured, that she didn't support you through any of the rehabilitation."

John visibly flinched at his ex-wife's name, his expression closing over. Anna reached out and brushed the hair from his brow. There was something odd about his expression. Almost…terrified. But she couldn't deviate just now. If she did, she'd lose her nerve and everything would be for naught.

She took a deep breath, lowering her voice. "I also know that you're the first person that I've ever told about what went on with my stepfather. I never breathed a word of any of it to another soul, not even to Mary. You're the only one who knows why I went to live with my grandma."

Ever so slowly, John's eyes moved towards her. He wasn't quite meeting her gaze, but she took strength from it nevertheless. It was a step in the right direction. She felt brave enough to reach out for his limp hand, grasping hold of it firmly. He didn't pull away. A victory.

"I know that you're the only man I've ever said _I love you_ to," she whispered. "You're the only man that I've ever dreamed of a future with. A little white picket fence, the two point five children, a family pet. As far as I'm concerned, nothing's changed. I still want my future to be with you. I still want to wake up to your face in the morning and come home to it at night. I still want to cradle your son or daughter in my arms knowing that we made it together. This is an awful time for you, but I'm not Vera. I love you more than anything else in the world. Nothing will ever change that. Not if you lost your leg, not even if you grew another head. Though I admit that _that_ might take a bit of getting used to."

For the first time, John's lips quirked. She knew it was a reluctant gesture, but she took it as another triumph all the same. She squeezed his hand.

"You feel frightened and vulnerable right now. I understand it. God, I understand how you feel better than most people. I might not have had the same experiences, but those feelings never change. _Situations_ can change. And I promise you now, I will love you for the rest of my life. If you can honestly tell me that you don't want to see me anymore, that you don't love me and mean it, then I will get up and walk out of that door without bothering you again. But unless you can do that with conviction, then I will stay here and fight for you for as long as I have to. Do you hear me, John? _I will not give up._ "

John's eyes had filled with tears. He blinked, and they spilled down his face. Anna reached up with her spare hand and brushed them away with the pad of her thumb, moving down to cup his jaw. His chin was thick with stubble. It had always grown in quickly. She directed his gaze towards hers, not allowing him to drop it.

"Say you don't want me," she said simply. "Tell me that you don't love me or want this anymore, and I will leave. I won't be dragged out kicking and screaming. But until I hear you say it, you won't turn me away. Say it if you mean it, John, but don't make yourself a liar."

His mouth worked for a couple of seconds, but it felt like longer; her heart lodged itself in her throat while she waited for him to decide their fate. It all came down to this.

"I can't say it," he whispered at last, and the agony that weighted his words was strong. That didn't matter. What he was saying did. "I can't."

"Good choice, Mr. Bates," she said, her heart nigh on exploding in her chest with her relief and joy. "That's all I need to know. And that leaves just one more question that I need to ask."

"What's that, then?" John said wearily. He looked exhausted by his internal battle. This was it. Anna took a deep breath, easing the tiny piece of jewellery from the pocket of her jeans. It was John's left hand that she was holding, and she brought it up higher, balancing the small gold band between thumb and forefinger.

"This is probably a bad time, but marry me?" she said. John stared at her, utterly gobsmacked.

" _What?"_ he croaked.

Anna did not waver. "Marry me, John Bates. Everything I was just saying, I meant completely. Make me the happiest woman alive by agreeing to marry me. Let me show you that I intend to be by your side no matter what else may come in the future. We've both been broken in the past, but it only makes us fit even better. Do me the honour of becoming my husband."

"I thought it was traditional to get down on one knee," he said.

She laughed, taking his words as a good sign. "I would, only I wouldn't be able to see you from down there. If you accept, I'll propose again the moment you step foot out of here."

"It would be an intriguing sight."

"So does that mean you accept? You'll marry me?"

More tears spilled, and he took a rough breath. "I'd marry you every minute of every day if it was possible."

"It's a nice idea," she said. "But it wouldn't give us much time to do anything else, would it?" She raked her eyes down him, letting him know in no uncertain terms that she still wanted him just the same as she had yesterday.

His laugh was rusty, but it was the most wonderful sound she had heard in a long time. "Yes, Anna May Smith, yes, I'll marry you."

Anna laughed too, and pushed the ring further onto his finger as a mock of a true engagement ring. It had been a gift from her father many, many years before, a faded nine-carat piece that had attracted her eye like shiny things did a magpie. She'd had the band expanded over the years so that she could still wear it, and now it rested on John's little finger, just above the first joint, even his smallest finger thicker than her ring one. He stared down at it in disbelief, and she couldn't wait a second longer to rise, pressing a kiss first to his forehead, and then onto his lips, tears of her own forming behind her closed lids as she breathed in the scent of him.

They still had a long way to go. There would be tears on both sides, frequent and fervent apologies from John as he grappled with the toxic way he had spoken to her before, the pain of him regaining his strength, the beginning of the grindingly slow criminal proceedings as he finally admitted that he had seen the registration plate of the car that had crashed into him, linking right back to Vera. But there would be happy tears too, and so much pride as John made his way slowly and falteringly down the aisle, armed with a cane but with so much love on his face as he waited for his blooming bride.

They had always been better as a united front than two people alone, and from that moment onwards, they were never alone again.


	7. You're jealous, aren't you?

**A/N:** At the time I wrote these, my personal goal was to keep them at between one and two thousand words long. This one went quite a bit over, but I couldn't find a way to cut it down.

When researching, I read that in Ireland it's commonplace to apply to the courts if you want to marry before you're eighteen.

* * *

 _filzlatsche requested, "You're jealous, aren't you?"_

* * *

"Are you sure you can't come with me this evening?" Anna asked as she fixed in her earrings.

John looked up from the report he was poring over, pushing his glasses up onto his head. "I can't, my darling. I need to get this done for Robert. I'm sorry."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure you are," she teased. "Getting out of socialising at a work's do. You must be so disappointed."

"I like to support you when I can," he protested good-naturedly. "Even if that does mean having to suffer for hours on end while everyone networks."

"Well, I appreciate the sentiment."

"I'll be your chauffeur for the evening."

She snorted. "Yes, arriving in style in your old, banged up Ford Mondeo."

"Porkie has been with me through thick and thin. I can't part with her now."

Anna rolled her eyes, hiding her smile. He could be infuriating at times, but he was her man all the same.

* * *

These kinds of pretentious dinners were a far cry from what Anna usually enjoyed too. But Mary was trying to expand her empire, and meeting with other companies that they could potentially do business with was a necessary evil, and not something that she could beg out of easily. So here she was, being directed to a seat at one of the round tables in the hiring room in one of Leeds' finest hotels. John had booked into one of the rooms upstairs so he could work in peace without having to make the round trip twice in one evening, cutting into his precious working time. Anna had been tempted to sneak up with him and distract him anyway, but her sense of duty had won out.

Which had led her here. Most of the people on her table were already seated, and Anna felt eyes on her as she approached.

"Hello," she said, pulling out her seat. "I'm Anna Smith, from Crawley Fashion House."

The others murmured their welcome, introducing themselves in monosyllables. Anna turned to the woman on her right.

"Nice to meet you…?" she said, trying to make conversation.

The woman seemed reluctant to introduce herself. Eventually, she said, "I'm Marie. I work for Susan Flintshire."

"Oh. How nice," said Anna, internally grimacing. Mary hadn't wanted to invite her father's cousin along— _"Old fashioned? She should have been born two centuries ago!"_ her friend was fond of saying—but Susan was waspish at the best of times, and she would only see it as a snub and a downright insult. It was always best to keep her onside. Anna doubted she would have much in common with this woman. Still, she would be stuck with her for most of the evening.

"How long have you worked for Susan?" she asked.

"Not long. I've recently come over from Ireland."

"I've always wanted to see Ireland. I'm hoping to go there one day with my boyfriend. Will you be over here long?"

Marie's eyes were like chips of ice, a cool, pale blue. She had the air of someone who was permanently disdainful of those around her, but there was something striking about her nevertheless. Anna wasn't sure that she liked her much.

"We'll have to see," said Marie.

"What brought you over here, if you don't mind me asking?"

"My husband. Or ex-husband. I'm sure he's always quick to point out that he's single now."

"Oh." Anna reached out for her glass and took a long gulp of water to occupy her. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. I'm certainly not. He was a no-good waste of space by the end. I was clinging on more because I could than because I wanted to."

Ah, so she was one of those kinds of women. Anna's instinctive feeling of dislike grew. John had told her about his divorce from his own ex-wife, how she had stalled frequently for no other reason than just to frustrate him and beat him down. She fought to keep her expression neutral.

"But now I'm here to see him again," Marie continued. "I still don't feel I got what was owed to me, not after what he put me through. I'm here to settle that."

"Right," Anna said, non-committal. She glanced around the table, wondering if there was someone else she could pull into conversation so that it could be steered away from this uncomfortable topic, but everyone seemed to be engrossed. Her shoulders slumped.

Marie had bypassed the water and gone straight for the wine, taking a large swig. "It wasn't all bad, of course. Back when he was a real man. We were childhood sweethearts, Miss Smith, you know what that's like."

"I don't, actually," she said. The things that she should have been discovering in her teenaged years had been robbed from her.

Marie waved a casual hand. "I was sixteen when I met him. He was eighteen. A very handsome boy. I wanted him from the moment I saw him, and when I want something, I get it. He was like an eager puppy, fell over himself to please me. I thought he could give me the exciting life I'd always dreamed of, because he was exciting to be around. We waited until I was eighteen before we married because we didn't want to have the hassle of obtaining permission from the courts, and I thought my life couldn't be better." She gave a short, biting laugh. "Foolish young girl that I was."

Anna looked around desperately, trying to catch the waiter's eye. She would need something substantially heavier than water to get her through this. Thankfully, they were interrupted by the dinner orders. Marie knocked back the dregs of her glass and ordered another. Anna took the opportunity to ask for a glass of wine too. A large one.

"I need a cigarette," Marie said when the waiter had gone, rummaging in her handbag. She pulled one out, twirling it in her fingers.

"There's no smoking inside," Anna pointed out, but Marie was clearly a woman who did things her way, and woe betide anyone who tried to stop her. She flared it up subtly, taking a deep drag. This garnered looks from the other women around the table, but one of those poisonous stares sent them scurrying back to their own conversations. Anna was truly alone in this.

"It all went wrong, of course," Marie continued, as if there had been no break in the conversation. "Turned out that he was nothing like the man I'd hoped he would be. He was a weak man most of the time, and the rest of the time his nasty Irish temper got the better of him."

Anna felt a stirring in the pit of her stomach. Her throat constricted. For the first time, she felt an affinity with the woman beside her. "He didn't…?"

Marie snorted. "Oh, no, he wouldn't have had the balls to lay a finger on me. He was sharp with his words, and I knew how to push his buttons." She exhaled a plume of smoke, leaning back. "Funny how things like that are the only things that make you feel alive by the end."

Anna said nothing. It wasn't something she could fathom, _wanting_ to make someone angry so that they would lose their temper and snap. How was that healthy?

Marie laughed again, her voice lowering. There was something smoky about it, sexy and alluring, even with the fact that she was clearly a few cards short of a full deck. "He was fantastic in bed, it's the only thing I'll give him. We were always in bed together." She drained this glass too, slamming it back onto the table. "I've had a hundred men since him, and none of them have matched up. Even when he was out of his head, he knew how to please a woman. We'd have split earlier if it wasn't for the sex. Even when we hated each other, we couldn't resist it."

Good God, she needed Marie to change the subject. Or better still, stop talking altogether. Neither seemed to be close to happening. Finishing off her own glass, Anna didn't think there was enough wine in the whole world to get her through the evening.

* * *

She was the first person out of the function room, leaving as soon as it was polite to do so once the evening had proceeded. Pulling out her phone, she called John. He answered after a couple of rings, sounding surprised.

"You're earlier than I thought you'd be."

"And thank God for that. Are you still in the room?"

"I am. I'll come down and meet you."

"No need. Give me the number and I'll come to you."

He did so, and she went to reception to tell them. They phoned up to clarify, and two minutes later she was knocking on the smooth oak door. John opened at once, and she slipped inside. Kicking off her heels, she made her way to the bed and face-planted onto the cotton sheets.

John chuckled moving back over to the desk that was an explosion of paper. "That bad?"

"Worse," she groaned, watching as he started to gather things together. "I was sat with this horrendous woman. She did nothing but talk about her toxic marriage."

"We'd have probably got along swimmingly," John joked, then sobered when she scowled. "Sorry."

"I only got away when it was time to mingle, but I know she was watching me after that. Almost like she was weighing me up. It wasn't a pleasant sensation." Anna shuddered. Whenever she'd looked Marie's way, the other woman appeared to be taking no notice of her, drinking herself silly and doing little to integrate into the group, but the feeling had lingered nevertheless. She was glad to be out of there now.

"Well, how about I whisk you home? I'm almost done here. I can finish off the rest when I get back, I don't mind."

"Didn't you pay for the room for the whole night?"

"I did, but that's standard when renting a room, love."

She pushed herself upright. "Then I have an idea. Let's stay here for the whole night."

He blinked at her. "But we don't have anything with us."

She hopped off the bed, crossing the room to the bathroom and poking her head around the door. "Yep, complimentary toothbrushes. Standard for a place like this. And your memory may be failing you, but I should remind you that we've slept naked plenty of times in the past."

His eyes softened, like warm honey. "That's very true." His voice came out husky.

She moved back towards him, settling herself over his lap. He was already beginning to stir. She smirked at him, leaning in.

"Let's be spontaneous," she said, and leaned down to kiss him. He made that delicious sound in the back of his throat, cupping her face with both hands, and all thoughts beyond the urgency of having him naked and all over her were chased clean from her mind.

But still, something about Marie had unsettled her, and although she couldn't for the life of her put her finger on it, it didn't stop Anna from having a sleepless night, long after the heat of lovemaking had cooled from her body, with John curled protectively around her, snoring obliviously at her back.

* * *

Over the next few days, however, life carried on as normal, and Anna put her odd feelings aside. She went out to work and more often than not home to John, greeted with the warmth of his embrace. The encounter faded to the back of her mind.

Until that day.

"John, don't worry," she said, putting the phone on loudspeaker so she could carry on tidying her plates. "I'll take your mum shopping. I don't mind."

" _Are you sure? I can always take her tomorrow. I shouldn't be held up then."_

"Just get yourself home as soon as you can. I was only going to lounge about watching _Corrie_ , so it's not like you're interrupting any plans. Come over to mine, if you want. Spend the night. I'm missing you."

She could hear the smile in his voice. _"I will do. Love you."_

"Love you too. Drive careful. I'll see you later."

She ended the call, finished tidying up, and drove over to John's mother's. The dear old thing looked surprised to find her at the door.

"You'll have to make do with me instead of your charming son," said Anna. "He's got to work late. I said I'd take you shopping."

"Oh, dear, you shouldn't have. I could have waited."

"Nonsense."

"Well, thank you. Truth be told, you'll be a welcome change to my boy. There's no browsing with him. You get what you need and go. Men."

Anna giggled, waiting while the older woman bustled around collecting her things. They chatted cheerfully as they made their way to the local supermarket.

It was on the bread aisle that everything changed.

Anna had just left John's mother deciding between which box of eggs she wanted on the next aisle to pick up a small French stick, knowing how much John liked it when it was crusty and fresh, when she heard a throaty Irish lilt from behind her. It made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. That was a voice that she hadn't wanted to hear again. Plastering on the best smile that she could, she turned around.

"Hello, Marie," she said. "I didn't realise you were staying in Downton."

Marie was holding a small basket of groceries. Anna noticed the bottle of whiskey immediately, and jumped when the other woman cleared her throat.

"It appears that this is where my ex has chosen to settle, so here I am," she replied.

"I see." Anna shifted uncomfortably, wondering how soon it could be for her to make her excuses politely. "Have you seen him yet?"

"Unfortunately not. He has the knack for flying under the radar. But don't worry, I'll find him sooner or later."

"Perhaps he doesn't know you're back," Anna ventured.

"Oh, he doesn't. Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, would I?" Marie's lips twisted bitterly, and her eyes were cold and unfeeling. Anna tried to repress her shudder. This woman was mad. There was no other explanation. Who else pursued their ex all the way across the channel if they had parted badly?

"Anyway, I'd better get on—" she tried, but before she could finish her excuse, Marie's eyes had honed in on something over her shoulder. Anna hadn't known that it was possible for her eyes to get even colder.

"Mother," she said.

Confused, Anna turned around.

John's mother stood behind her, looking very much as if she'd seen the Devil pop right up from the ground in front of her.

And suddenly it all made sense. Childhood sweethearts, a life in Ireland, the breakdown of the marriage with anger and bitterness…

Anna was looking at Vera Bates.

The bread slipped from her fingers and rolled across the floor.

"Vera?" she said faintly. Her head buzzed.

Vera looked momentarily startled that her alias had been rumbled, but there was no doubt that this woman was as quick-witted as any fox. The surprise morphed quickly into dangerous mirth, and the cackle that left her lips made Anna's hair stand on end.

"Oh, this is precious," she sneered. "The boyfriend you mentioned last week is none other than my own precious Johnny? And here was me, debating whether I should approach you to ask if you knew of his whereabouts, since you work for Mary Crawley."

It was John's mother who stepped forward, hatred sparking in her eyes. "Anna is the best thing that's ever happened to him."

"Oh, I'm sure she is. A little gold digger for him to play with. I'm sure he's flattered that he's managed to catch someone as pretty as you…and, well, I suppose you can always lie back and think of the money when he's grunting on top of you."

The slap that smacked against Vera's cheek surprised Anna as much as it did anyone else; her arm had taken on a life of its own. She took a step back, afraid. She'd never lost her temper and hit another person before. _Never_.

Vera turned slowly. Those blue eyes flashed.

"That's assault," she said silkily. "You might receive a visit from the police one day soon." Unruffled, she turned away, shooting over her shoulder, "Give my regards to my darling Johnny. Tell him that he'll be seeing me very soon indeed."

And with that, she was gone, leaving Anna shaking.

* * *

Neither of them had felt like continuing the shop after that. They paid for the items that they'd picked up and made their way back to the car. The journey home was made in deadly silence. Anna dropped John's mother off at the door with a monotone, "Goodnight," and returned to her flat. She opened the door, pulled off her clothes, and stepped into the shower, her skin crawling. She simply couldn't get Vera out of her head. She'd shared a whole evening with her completely unaware, listening to her crooning about the sex she'd had with John, how fantastic it had been, what he'd done to her…

Bile rose in her throat, and she forced down the urge to be sick. Scrubbed her skin all the harder.

* * *

"Honey, I'm home!"

John's cheerful call was the very last thing that she needed. After her shower, she had pulled on her comfiest pyjamas, swathed herself in her dressing gown, and slumped down on the settee. The TV was on mute, and she stared sightlessly at the flickering picture. She didn't reply.

Concern laced his tone as she heard him set his things down. "Anna, are you all right? Do you not feel well?"

Hysterical laughter bubbled. "Oh, I'm fine and dandy, John. Fine and dandy!"

"You don't sound it. Has something happened?"

"Why should something have happened? I took your mother shopping, that's all! Nothing out of the ordinary about that!" She pushed herself up into a sitting position, twisting her head to see him. "Apart from, you know, meeting your ex-wife."

John's face drained of blood faster than anything she had ever seen before. "What did you say?"

"Your ex-wife, John. Vera. She's here to see you. But that's not even the best bit. That dreadful woman I shared my evening with at Mary's business party? The one who you thought you'd get along with swimmingly? One and the same person."

" _What?"_ John sat down heavily. He looked very much like a man who had gone ten rounds with a heavyweight champion boxer. "What's she doing here?"

"How the hell should I know? She kept going on about getting her due from you."

"She took everything I had when we divorced. There's nothing more that I can give her."

"Not what she seems to think."

"Did nothing give you an inkling of who she was?"

"How the hell could I have known? Good God, John, I know nothing about her! I've never seen a picture of her before. And she called herself Marie. You tell me how I could have known."

"You're right. It's not your fault." He took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair. "I suspect she changed her name in case anyone at the event knew of me. Robert's company is prolific, and so is Mary's. She didn't want rumbling too early."

"Well, it worked," said Anna. She stood. "I'm going to bed. Maybe you should leave."

"What?" he said, his voice catching. "Are you saying…?"

"No," she forced out. "But I need time and space tonight, John."

"All right," he said sadly. She did not move to kiss him, and he turned reluctantly to go. When the door had clicked to behind him, Anna sank back onto the sofa, the tears welling.

She barely slept, and she stumbled from bed the next morning to find a text from John, pleading with her to come round to his after work. _I love you_ , he finished earnestly.

The day passed in a daze. She was challenged on several fronts about mistakes that she had made. By home time, she was exhausted, and debated ignoring John's text in favour of going back to her dark flat. But no. They were in a relationship. She couldn't avoid the issue forever.

John had obviously been waiting for her, for he pulled the door open before she had even finished the first knock. She ducked inside. He didn't know how to greet her, his hands thrust in his pockets. The place stank of stale smoke. He'd smoked quite heavily the previous evening. All that hard work to cut back, undone in a single moment. At last it was better than whiskey.

He gestured for her to take a seat on the sofa. She did so, fighting back the memories. He'd put his arm casually along the back of the settee once and she'd snuggled into his side. They'd kissed in this spot in the early days, shy and fumbling. More recently they'd made love there, and he'd pulled the throw from the back of the sofa to keep them warm in the aftermath. The tears brewed anew.

"Hey, what's all this!?" he said, alarmed, moving to her side at once. The dam seemed to have broken, and he pulled her fiercely into his arms, pressing his lips to her temple. She wound her arms tight around his middle, nigh on squeezing the life out of him as she buried her face into the warmth of his chest.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he reassured her. "I promise."

Bit by bit, the emotion subsided. She pushed back, embarrassed by her reaction, fumbling for a tissue.

"I don't know what came over me," she said.

"You do," he countered. "Talk to me, Anna, please. What's Vera done to upset you so much? She must have done something."

"It's just overwhelming, the shock of it all. That's it."

"There's got to be more to it than that. I spoke to Mother. She said you slapped her."

"I shouldn't have done that. It was wrong."

"But something must have triggered it," he pressed. "It's not like you at all."

"I'm just being stupid," she replied staunchly.

Realisation dawned on his face. "What…you're jealous, aren't you?"

"Why should I be jealous?" she said, feeling the giveaway burning in her cheeks, feeling more shame than ever.

"I don't know," he said gently. "That's what I'm asking you."

She remained stubbornly silent for a moment. But she had never been able to lie to him, and this was no exception.

"I can't get it out of my head," she said quietly. "The things she said to me."

"What did she say?" he urged.

"The way she talked about you when neither of us knew who the other was. The sex you had with her."

"I was married to her," he said softly. "You know I wasn't a monk."

"I _know_." She gestured wildly, trying to find the best way to explain her feelings, if there even was an adequate way. "But I've never had to deal with it face to face before. You've never had another woman while you've been here in Downton. I've never had to accept you with someone else. How would you feel if someone from my past turned up and started to tell you about everything we'd done together?"

"I'd hate it," he whispered.

"That's what it's like for me. Vera has always been faceless to me, a figment of your past that has no bearing on what we have now. But she _is_ here now. She's real. And now I can't get that image of the two of you out of my head. She calls you Johnny. It's intimate. It's something that just the two of you had."

"I'm not in your position," he conceded. "But I can understand where you're coming from. I can, truly."

"I know I shouldn't be jealous. We all have pasts. It's irrational, but I can't help it. I close my eyes and I see it. I worry that I can't ever compete with the passion you had before."

He reached out tentatively, wiping the tears from her face. "Have you thought of one thing?"

"What?"

"Yes, Vera was a big part of my past. But you are the only person in the world who I want to be a big part of my future. I thought I would never meet anyone else, but you came into my life and changed it completely. You have made me want so much more than I did before. Children, Anna. For us to be a proper family. I can't change the man that I was before I moved here. I can't change anything that I had with Vera. But you are the only woman I want for the rest of my life, and everything she said that I shared with her is nothing compared to what I share with you. You are better than her in every way imaginable. What we have is true intimacy, true passion. You make me feel a thousand things that she never did, I swear to you."

John had never been a man of many words. Oh, he told her that he loved her often, showed her even more, and said so many daft things that they made her call him her silly, sappy beggar. But he had never made an impassioned speech like this.

"You don't need to swear to me," Anna said, pressing his palm to her cheek. "I believe you. I just…overreacted. Meeting her threw me off. If I'd been more prepared…"

He encouraged her forward, pressing his mouth to hers, lingering. When he pulled way, he rested his forehead against hers.

"You didn't overreact," he said. "You felt how most people would have felt. And I will find her and get this sorted, get her out of our lives for good so we can move towards that future."

"I don't think she'll go quietly," she said.

"But she's gone before. She'll have to go again. I'll have it out with her."

"Be careful, that's all I ask."

"I'm always careful."

It wasn't strictly the case, but she wouldn't badger him now. Sinking further into his embrace, she breathed in the warm spice of his skin, pressing kisses into his neck.

Later on that evening, they drove back to hers. There was no question about what would happen when they got there. The very air was charged with the frantic need. John made love to her with an intensity that took her breath away. His lips trailed over every inch of her body, and he didn't remove them for even a second as they came together, moving as one. His body was strong and safe above her, and she wound her arms and legs around him, keeping him close. The intensity of her end almost blindsided her, and she trembled in his arms in the aftermath, still twined so closely that it was difficult to work out where she stopped and he began.

He was right. Neither of them could change their pasts. That didn't mean that she had to think less of what they had together. There were a million people who would wish that they could have what she was lucky enough to share with John. She'd had a momentary wobble, but he was always there to catch her, her reliable man. And that _was_ what he was now, had been for so long. _Hers_. She pushed herself up so she could kiss him, his fingertips trailing over the small of her back.

It was only the start of their troubles, with a long, twisting path yawning in front of them. But they were on the path together, and that was what mattered to Anna.


	8. I've been looking everywhere for you

_lemacd123 requested, "I've been looking everywhere for you."_

* * *

The news had been met with varying degrees of excitement, from raucous cheers from their friends, to abject horror from Robert, but the news was official nevertheless: Sybil Crawley was pregnant. The young woman had made the announcement at the annual Crawley Christmas party, and now the revellers toasted her and a grinning Tom Branson, who looked every inch the proud young father. John stepped back from the crowd, spying Robert's flabbergasted face. Taking his friend by the elbow, he led him towards the drinking room, newly named for the bar that Robert had installed last year, whose price tag had made John wince with envy. Wordlessly, he sat Robert on one of the stools and ducked behind the bar, rummaging for a tumbler and the bottle of whiskey. He poured, and pushed it in his friend's direction. Robert downed it in one, lip curling in a grimace. He pushed it back, signalling another.

"My baby girl, pregnant," he said. "I can't believe it."

"She's not a baby, Rob. She's very young, but she's not immature."

"She's only _eighteen_. It was different in our day. Everyone married young and started expanding. That's what Cora and I did. That's what you did."

John cringed at the reminder of his past, but at least he could be grateful that he'd never had children with Vera. He'd often wondered if there was a problem with one of them. It had never really bothered them at the time, young and wild as they'd been, with his job in the army making his schedule unpredictable. Now he could only be glad that children hadn't been dragged into the middle of their warzone.

"But nowadays it's different. There's no need to marry young. She's always been so bright, so headstrong. She could have had a career in anything."

"Doesn't mean she can't," John objected, but he could understand his friend's feelings of a protective father. If he had a daughter, he would feel much the same way.

"And that Branson fool, of all people." Robert shook his head bitterly. "I was hoping that it was just a fling that would pass, and now look what's happened. She's going to be tied to him in some way for the rest of her life, whether they stick it or not. She could have done so much better for herself than him. He wanders round not having a bloody clue what he wants to do with his life, and now he's going to have to support a child. It's simply not going to happen."

Privately, John disagreed. While it was true that Tom was a bit of a free spirit, it was clear that he thought the world of his girlfriend. Was it rather careless to be bringing a child into the world only a few months after first meeting? Yes, it was, but Tom wasn't the kind of man to cut and run. He was honourable, and John knew that he would stand by his child even if things with Sybil didn't work out in the long run. He would work a thousand times harder than he already did to make sure they both wanted for nothing.

But he wouldn't get into a disagreement now. This was far from his idea of fun, but it was supposed to be a pleasant evening. Clapping Robert on the back, he said, "Come on, mate, let's re-join the party."

Robert waved him away sulkily. "You go. I need a bit more time."

"You sure?"

"Very sure. Wouldn't want to cause a scene by throwing a pint of beer over that lad's head, would I?"

John had no reply to that, so he bowed out of the room. But when he arrived back in the great hall, there was no Anna in sight. He frowned. She'd been in the middle of the room when he'd left, with the group of women clamouring around Sybil to offer her their congratulations, but now she'd disappeared. That was unlike her. They were usually inseparable at things like this, unless Anna was called away to dance. He couldn't see her on the dance floor now, though.

Spotting Mary Crawley, he edged his way towards her. The young woman was clutching at a glass of wine, seemingly still in shock about her youngest sister's announcement. He dipped his head low so that she'd hear him over the thumping music.

"Where's Anna?"

Mary jumped, but quickly found her composure. "Oh, it's you. I'm not sure. She was here a few minutes ago. I didn't see her leave."

John thanked her, and continued to scan the room. Anna was definitely nowhere in sight. Confused, he exited. She couldn't have gone far, and she wouldn't have left entirely without saying goodbye to Mary.

But room by room yielded no results, and John's perplexity only grew. She didn't just disappear. It wasn't her. She was usually the life and soul, even when she spent the time with him. Vanishing for some solitude was what he would do, not her.

It sparked his instincts into life.

If he wanted to avoid the crowd, where would he go?

He found her out on the large balcony that ran across the upstairs rooms. She was leaning against the railing, an empty glass in her hands.

"There you are," he said softly.

She started at his voice, spinning round. Her cheeks were pink. He couldn't tell if it was from the cold or from the alcohol that she had consumed.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," he continued, venturing further out.

She gave a despondent shrug of the shoulders. "I needed some air."

"You okay?" he asked, coming to a rest by her side.

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"I said I am, didn't I?" she snapped.

He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry. I only ask because I care about you."

She stared him down for a moment, her blue eyes piercing, before she slumped forward. Contemplating the tiniest of dregs in her glass, she knocked it back before shaking her head. "You're right. Now I'm the one who's sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for," he said. "God knows you've never been angry with me before when you should have been."

The smile that graced her face was small at best, but he took it as a victory. Together, they stood in silence. John wasn't going to push. If she wanted to talk, then she would. He knew enough about solitude to know that she wouldn't speak what was on her mind if she didn't want to.

But Anna was not him, and it wasn't long before she broke, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the party that was still raging below. She didn't look at him, staring out at the darkened lawn that swept as far as the eye could see.

"I feel horrible," she said.

"What do you mean?" He kept his tone light and gentle, not wanting to push her harder than she was ready for. She did not answer him immediately, but bit by bit, the words trickled through.

"Sybil. I should be so happy for her, but I'm not."

"You don't mean that," he said softly. "I saw you congratulating her. You couldn't fake that kind of gladness."

"Maybe not. But I felt it all the same. Jealousy."

"Why are you jealous?"

Anna gave a bark of bitter laughter, gesturing at herself. "Look at me. What do you see?"

 _The most beautiful woman in the whole world_ , he thought, but he kept silent, waiting for her to elaborate.

"I'm twenty seven. I always hoped that I would have something to show for it by now."

"You do," he insisted. "You're fantastic at your job. Look how far you've come. Not many people can say that they work in such a prestigious fashion house, as Mary Crawley's right hand woman no less."

Anna waved it away, as if her achievements were nothing. "When I was a little girl, before my dad died, I always dreamed of having a huge family. I didn't even know how babies were made, but I knew I wanted tens of them. I was always disappointed that I only had my sister as company, so I was determined that I would have lots of children of my own that I could play with and dress."

"You can't seriously be thinking that you're old," he exclaimed. "Good God, I wish _I_ was twenty seven again. You've got plenty of time to find the right man and have your houseful of children." The thought made his throat close over. He knew it would take every ounce of strength that he had to stand by and watch her fall in love with a man who wasn't him, sit in the church while she married him, visit her in the hospital after she'd given birth to a baby that he didn't share with her, potentially even asked if he wanted to accept the honour of being a godfather.

Perhaps he wouldn't have the strength to do it. In three months' time, he would tell Joseph Molesley that Anna Smith _did_ have someone special in his life, hating himself for his selfishness, but unable to bear the idea that Joe would be the man that he couldn't be.

"It's not about age," she said. "I just know that I'll never find the man that I want."

His heart fractured in his chest, even as he knew that he couldn't have expected anything different. How _could_ he have expected any different, even in the smallest of capacities? Anna was young and full of life. He was well past his prime, and had more baggage than was tolerable for any man. There was no reason why she would see him as more than a friend.

But he had promised that he would be there for her, no matter what.

"I just…I can't do it," she continued. Her words were slightly slurred, and they made no sense. "In the past, I couldn't be with a man for more than a few months. I couldn't seem to attach myself. I'm broken. And when I did find someone I thought I could truly, truly trust, it could never be."

"Why not?" he pressed.

"He could never see me that way," she said simply. "And I'm back to square one. Because I can't imagine spending my life with anyone else but him."

"You can't think like that," he tried. "It's the drink. It's skewering your vision."

"It's not," she said flatly. "You don't understand."

"Then help me to," he said softly. He reached out for her hand, easing the glass out of it and setting it down.

She shook her head. "I can't."

John deflated a little, but he shook it off quickly. This was about Anna, not him. "Well, this man you mentioned, were you with him long?"

She stared at him, surprised, for a moment, then answered. "No, we weren't even together in that way."

"So he might not even have known how you felt?" he prompted, trying to ignore the sinking of his heart, the sick feeling in his stomach.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I've never said anything. Sometimes I think that maybe there's a chance, and then other times I think that there's no chance at all."

"Well, do you know what I think?" said John, taking her hand fully and cradling it between both of his. "I think that this bloke, whoever he is, is the luckiest bloke in the world to have someone like you, whether he's aware of your feelings or not. If he isn't, then maybe you should tell him, because you've nothing to lose and perhaps everything to gain. And if he is aware and doesn't feel the same, well, he's the stupidest prick that could possibly be living, and you could do a whole lot better than him. The right man is out there for you somewhere, and one day you'll get your houseful of children and the happy marriage. You're beautiful, Anna, and intelligent and kind and funny." He squeezed her hand tighter, willing her to feel the truth.

"You're just saying that to make me feel better." She laughed, a little hysterically. "And I wouldn't be saying any of this in the first place if I hadn't had too much to drink."

"Be that as it may, I'm telling you the truth. Have I ever let you down like that before?"

"No," she whispered, "you haven't."

Her words made him glow, and he inched nearer, sliding one of his hands free so he could wrap his arm around her shoulders and bring her close to his side. She snuggled against him, and for long moments they stood in silence.

At last, Anna stirred. "People will start to wonder where we are."

"I know," he murmured.

"We should head back inside."

"You're right," he agreed.

She hesitated for a few seconds longer. It seemed that she wanted to say more. His heartbeat thrummed in his head, and he silently willed her to find the words, to open the floodgates. But she didn't. Instead, she shook her head, and pulled her armour back on. He saw the transformation in her face, that frightened anguish smoothing out until she stared at him as steadfast as ever. He would get no more out of her tonight, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Thank you," she said. "I needed that."

"What are friends for?" he replied automatically. He wasn't sure if it was the shadows playing tricks, but her gaze seemed to flicker for just a second.

"Yes, well, it still means a great deal," she said.

There was a long moment of pause. John continued to stare, unable to look away from her eyes. For her part, Anna seemed just as entranced. The space between them seemed to be shrinking. She was leaning up towards him. The scent of her perfume stroked his nostrils. The warmth of her hand on his shoulder for support burned him right through the layers. The brush of her breasts against his chest sent an electric bolt right down his spine. There was one more suspended second where the whole world seemed to stand still, freezing them forever in this perfect moment.

And then her lips were on his, the contact so light that he wasn't sure if he was dreaming. Shy and hesitant, it was like a blessing from an angel. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, his whole body flushing with heat. He wasn't sure what to do with his hands, so he kept them dangling uselessly by his sides.

It couldn't have lasted for more than a couple of seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. When she pulled away, Anna's cheeks were ruddy. She murmured something about getting another drink, and weaved her way back inside. John gaped in her wake, his lips tingling.

Unsure of how to process what had transpired, he would spend the next days and weeks and months convincing himself that it had been nothing more than a friendly peck, committed under the influence of alcohol and gratitude for her ego boost. She would never mention it again, at least not until after her birthday in May, and neither would he, afraid that his heart would be broken if she laughed it off, or worse, didn't even remember it. It would be longer still before he finally understood the heartache roiling beneath this conversation that they had shared.

But even so. _The right man is out there for you somewhere_ , he'd promised her. He couldn't know that five months later, he would become the man that he'd always wanted to be.

The right man for Anna Smith.


	9. I waxed the floor, get your fluffy socks

**A/N:** I'm not going to lie, I was heavily influenced by Brendan's beard in _12 Monkeys_ when I wrote this. It was hella fine.

* * *

 _maestra102 requested, "I waxed the floors, grab your fluffy socks."_

* * *

"Good God, what's that on your face?" was Robert's opening gambit as John made his way over to his friend's table, hefting his carryall over his shoulder.

"Very funny," said John, sinking down and grabbing the coke that his friend had already ordered for him. "There I was, working my arse off on the other side of the world, and all you can do is make pithy remarks about my appearance."

"Well, I must confess that I'm slightly bewildered by the fact that Americans don't seem to have razors. Heathens."

"I didn't have any time to do anything but grab a quick meal and a shower between all the chaos." John rubbed at his chin self-consciously, wishing that he'd taken more time to spruce up his appearance before returning home. That said, it had been a choice between catching an earlier flight and waiting another day, and he had chosen with his heart, homesick for his family.

"Well, for the love of all things holy, get rid of it now you're back. Beards are scratchy when you're kissing."

"I didn't realise that you wanted to kiss me so badly," John deadpanned, "or that you had experience kissing men with beards."

Robert wrinkled his nose. "Oh, bugger off. And please tell me what the hell you've called me here for when you could have been flying back into the open arms of your missus and greeting those children of yours."

"I needed to see you away from Anna first." John took a deep breath. "You see, I've been planning a surprise…"

* * *

When he opened the front door, he was greeted by a shriek, and barely had time to drop his bag and cane and brace himself before Anna was launching herself into his arms. He bit back a hiss as his knee buckled, but he was determined that nothing would spoil this moment. It had been two long weeks since he had last clamped eyes on his beautiful wife, and he would soak up every perfect second.

There were several happy tears when Anna pulled away, but the smile faded as she blinked at him quizzically.

"What's this?" she asked, touching her fingers to his cheek.

"Yes, I know," he said. "Robert said he wouldn't want to kiss me with this."

"I think I'm better off not knowing," she replied. "Your bromance seems to be less 'bro' and more 'romance'."

"Very funny," he said, tugging her closer.

"Anyway, how does Robert know about it?"

"I'll explain all that later. Do you agree with Robert's assessment? Should I shave before I kiss you?"

"What do you think?" she said, and pulled him down to her. He closed his eyes as their mouths meshed, holding her even closer. He was home. He never wanted to leave her again.

"Daddy!"

His name was screamed at the top of a healthy pair of lungs, and John pulled away to find Jack barrelling down the stairs like a hundred metre sprinter, hurling himself off the second to bottom step and landing unsteadily.

"Jack," Anna warned him, but it didn't deter him in the slightest; for the second time in the space of a few minutes, John found himself completely overwhelmed by the bundle of energy that was his son. He looked beyond him to find Jasmine following at a slower pace, her pudgy little legs not propelling her forward as fast. She looked at him shyly.

"Come to Daddy, sweetheart," John said, opening his spare arm for her, and that was enough to have her running towards him too. He bent down so that he could bury his head against both of them, breathing in their scents. Tears burned behind his eyes. His little tribe.

"Daddy, your cheek is all scratchy," Jack said accusingly, wrinkling his nose.

"That's because I'm turning into a bear," he growled, rubbing his cheek against each of them for greater effect. Jasmine squealed, giggling, her little arms squeezing him tight. He kissed each of them in turn, seeking out Anna's face. She was beaming, tears shimmering in her own eyes.

"I ought to have known that you were the source of the ruckus, Johnny."

John grinned up at his mother, who had paused halfway down the stairs. She was in her eighties now; her sight was poor and she was frailer than she'd ever been, but her mind and will was strong.

"Nice to see you too," he teased, pulling himself back to his feet with a grimace and crossing the space to her side so that he could drop a kiss onto her cheek. She scrutinised him with those dark Irish eyes when he pulled away.

"I'd be lyin' if I said I hadn't missed you, son," she said, "but what on _earth_ is that thing on your face?"

* * *

They'd put the children to bed, shared an intimate bath, and decided on an early night. John was exhausted from all the travelling and the time differences, and he lay with Anna in the circle of his arms, almost nose to nose with her as they shared the same pillow. She was stroking her hand through his hair, a gesture that was exceedingly soothing. He felt his eyelids fluttering, and forced them open.

"Why didn't you say you were coming?" she was murmuring. "I could have met you at the airport."

"I didn't know until today," he said. "It was all very last minute. I thought you might have wanted me home sooner without warning."

"You're not wrong there," she said tenderly, moving to kiss him. There would be no sex tonight, much as he would like it, but holding her close to him after so long alone was more than enough.

"Are you sure you don't want me to shave?" he asked yet again. "I'll do it first thing in the morning, but I don't mind if you'd rather me do it now. I know it's a rather unprecedented sight."

"No, I like it," she replied. "In fact, I think you should leave it a little longer."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really? Robert really wasn't a fan."

"Which reminds me, you still haven't explained how Robert knew about the beard before me."

"Well, you see, I stopped off to see him on the way home."

"What?"

"I've organised something for us. A weekend away, next week, for our wedding anniversary. I thought we could go somewhere together."

"You've already booked it? Without consulting me?"

"I thought you'd like it. It's nothing extravagant, just a weekend in Bath. I love our kids more than anything, but I thought it would be nice for us to celebrate, just the two of us."

"It would be," she mused. "But what's that got to do with Robert?"

"I asked him if he'd mind housesitting and looking after Jack and Jas. I didn't want to undermine Mother by asking Elsie, but you know she's not as agile as she used to be. Looking after them for a few hours at a time is taxing enough for her, never mind for a whole weekend with no support. And she loves Robert to pieces. She won't mind having him and Cora invade the house for a while. Robert can charm anyone."

"I suppose," Anna conceded. "I just don't want to hurt her feelings."

"I don't think she'll be hurt, not this way."

John and Anna had decided to move his mother in with them for their own peace of mind almost a year before, after she had taken a nasty fall in her kitchen and cracked a rib. She'd fussed and sulked about the loss of her independence, but had gradually warmed to her new life, in no small part down to the enthusiasm of Jack and Jasmine at having their grandma living with them full time.

"So what do you say?" he asked.

"I say…" she grinned at him, winding her arms around his neck to kiss him so slowly that he melted, "roll on next weekend."

* * *

"Are you sure you've got everything you need?"

"Bloody hell, Bates, you're fussing worse than Anna is. _Yes_ , we've got everything we need."

"The emergency contact details—"

"—Are in the kitchen bureau. Yes, I know."

John flushed a little, grinning. "They're my babies, you know."

"And in very capable hands. And your mother knows everything that we need to know too. Stop worrying and go and have a good time. And for the love of God, get rid of that bloody beard. I find it very frustrating that you said you didn't have time to shave in America, yet you had time to book a dirty weekend away."

"I did that when I couldn't sleep. Besides, Anna says she likes it," John said. "She wanted me to keep it until after we get back."

"Then she has odd taste. Although I suppose I ought to have known that already. I mean, she _did_ choose you."

"Very funny," John said sarcastically, resisting the urge to flash him a rude hand gesture only because Jack had appeared.

"Mummy's waiting for you," his son informed him.

"We'll be right there." John limped across the room, setting his cane aside so he could lift the lad into his arms. "I'm going to miss you and Jas so much. Be good for Uncle Rob."

"Will," Jack promised, nuzzling against him. John closed his eyes, relishing his weight for a second longer before easing him back to the floor.

"Let's go and find Mummy and your sister so I can say goodbye to her too," he said.

Anna and Jasmine were in the front hall. Jasmine's lip was wobbling dangerously, a sure sign that she was going to cry.

"Don't go," she pleaded, her large brown eyes beseeching as she clutched at Anna's dress.

"Oh, darling," Anna said, her voice wavering. "We'll be back before you know it. It's only for a little while. And you've still got Grandma, and Aunt Cora and Uncle Robert are going to have so much fun with you."

"You won't even want them to come back," Robert chipped in helpfully. "No one does fun better than old Uncle Rob, you ask your daddy!"

John rolled his eyes. "If you say so."

Cora gave them a sympathetic look. "Just give them a kiss and be off with you. We'll settle Jasmine down."

"I know," Anna sighed. "I just don't like the idea of leaving her crying."

"She'll be perfectly fine before you're even out of Downton, I promise."

"Go, lass," his mother put in. "Go and have a nice time. You deserve it."

Anna nodded, but it was with heavy hearts that they hugged and kissed their children goodbye. Jasmine began to howl as they stepped outside, and it broke their hearts to leave her so upset.

But bit by bit, they started to relax. They had no doubt that Jack and Jasmine would want for nothing while they were away, and they would always be able to get in contact with them should the need arise. It was just for a couple of days. Surely nothing could go wrong in a couple of days.

* * *

"Oh, God, that was good," Anna purred as John sank down beside her, his heart thundering in his chest. She was perspiring, and had pushed the duvet clean off the bed to get as much of the cool night air onto her skin as possible. With an effort, John rolled over so that he could see her better. She was starfished on her back, and he ran his lecherous gaze all over her very naked body, the body that he had been worshipping just moments before. They'd married seven years ago today, and she was still the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. Nothing would ever change his opinion.

"Glad you enjoyed," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her tongue parting his lips as she coaxed him closer.

"Who knew that a beard could be so much of a turn on?" she said huskily, guiding him down to her nipple in emphasis, her eyes slitting as she rubbed his chin against her. "I might have to plead with you to grow it again at some point."

"I don't think it'll take much persuasion if this is the outcome," he whispered, and kissed her again.

They were silent for a few minutes as they lay together. When the chill of the room began to feel less than soothing, John reached for the duvet, pulling it up over them. He snuggled closer, his belly touching her hip. She turned her head on the pillow.

"I've had a wonderful day today," she murmured.

He kissed the side of her temple, draping his arm across her. "I'm glad."

"You shouldn't have spent so much money on those gifts."

"Did you like them?"

"You know I loved them."

"There you go, then," he said simply. "If a wedding anniversary isn't a reason to spoil you, then I don't know what is."

" _Every_ holiday is a reason to spoil me for you," she replied, shaking her head in mock-exasperation.

"You spoil me too," he pointed out.

Instead of inspiring a sassy retort, she paused, her eyes searching his face.

"What would you say if I had another gift for you?" she said quietly.

He raised an eyebrow. "I'd say that you shouldn't have."

"Well, it's more of a gift for the whole family, not just for you."

"Then I'm intrigued."

Anna reached out for his hand and twined their fingers together. She guided their joined hands to her stomach, her gaze never leaving his face.

The breath left him in a sweet rush, his eyes widening.

"Are you saying…?" he started.

"I am," she confirmed, the smile on her face beatific. "I'm pregnant again."

"We've been trying for so long," he said wondrously, stroking his fingers over the expanse of skin.

To the naked eye, there was nothing different about it. But there was a life forming beneath him at this very moment. Another child for them to love and cherish, another baby Bates to add to their little tribe. He'd almost given up hope of it ever happening, had tried to reconcile the fact that two children were enough. And Jack and Jasmine _were_ enough, of course they were. He didn't think two children could be loved as fiercely as he and Anna loved theirs. But Anna had always wanted a large family, and he'd ached to give her that, their hearts perfectly capable of expanding to accommodate more.

"When did you find out?" he breathed.

"Just after you left. You left me with a wonderful reminder. Maybe I should have told you sooner, but I wanted you here with me, not at the other side of the world. I wanted to see your face, not have to imagine it through the phone. And you had a job to do. I was going to tell you the night you got back, but when you mentioned this weekend away…I thought it was the perfect opportunity."

"Does anyone else know?"

"No. I didn't even tell Mother. I wanted you to be the first person to know. I've booked myself in for the first scan in a couple of weeks. So, what do you say? Are you happy?"

John shook his head, the tears of happiness blurring his vision. He kissed her, trying to pour all of the emotion that he was feeling into that moment, to let her know what a perfect moment it was. He scarcely dared to remember when he had tried to send her away, defeated to the core. If he'd succeeded, then they would never have had any of this. Thank God she had been stronger than him. She'd always been stronger than him.

"My darling," he sighed when they parted, tears shining in her eyes too, "I'm happier than I have ever been."

* * *

It had been the perfect weekend. They'd explored the historical sights and the picturesque town, and had travelled to the nearby city of Bristol for a bit of sightseeing. They'd dined in fine restaurants and made love in their hotel room. John found that he couldn't stop touching her, whether that was holding her hand while they were out and about, or running his hands all over her under the cloak of darkness. Anna seemed to crave his touch just as much.

The weekend had been perfect, but their wonderful home life beckoned them back. They'd both missed Jack and Jasmine so much, and the prospect of telling everyone about their new addition was exciting.

"We can tell Robert and Cora with Mother, and then I can phone Mary," Anna murmured as they pulled into the drive.

"Everyone can share our joy," John agreed. He reached across to kiss her one last time before they made their way to their house.

Cora greeted them at the door.

"How was it?" she asked, kissing them both.

"Amazing," Anna said, exchanging a coy grin with him. "I hope the kids were good."

"Angels, both of them."

"That's good to hear. Where's Rob?" asked John. "We've got some news."

"Um…he's in the living room…" Cora seemed a mix of embarrassed and irritated, but John ignored it, giving Cora one last smile and moving forward. He stopped short in the doorway.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed.

"Language, John," Anna said reprovingly. "You know that Jack repeated that word he heard you say for an entire week—bloody hell!"

Robert Crawley was sitting on the settee with his leg propped up on the footstool. It was in plaster.

"And here I was worrying about the kids," said John with a snort. "I didn't realise you were the one I should have been worrying about."

"That's it, have a good laugh," Robert said sourly.

"What happened?" Anna asked, pushing him over the threshold.

Before Robert could answer, they were interrupted by squeals and cries of their names, and Jack and Jasmine barrelled into the room, throwing themselves into their parents' arms.

"Careful of Mummy," John warned, instantly mindful as they flung their arms around her, but Anna didn't seem to mind, falling to her knees so she could kiss and hug them in return, murmuring over and over how she had missed them. His mother appeared behind, with Cora.

"Can someone please tell me what happened to Robert?" John asked.

Cora and his mother exchanged glances.

"I can!" Jack piped up gleefully.

"That's all right," Robert said hastily, but Jack wasn't to be deterred. He left Anna to paw at John's leg, and John lifted him up, carrying him over to the other sofa despite the sharp bite in his knee, draping him over his lap and holding him tight.

"It happened the first day," Jack said. "I was telling Uncle Robert how cool I thought Uncle Matthew was because he lets me sit on his bike, and Uncle Robert said that he was cool too. I asked him how and he said, 'I waxed the floors, grab your fluffy socks' because Aunt Cora had been telling him to make sure the kitchen was spick and span for you, and I didn't know what he meant but I did and then he showed me how to slide in the kitchen and it was so much fun! But then Snowball ran into the kitchen and got under Uncle Robert's feet and he fell over with a big bang."

"I knew there was a reason I didn't like chuffing cats," Robert muttered darkly.

"And then he said he couldn't move, and Aunt Cora had to call Aunt Mary and Uncle Matthew over to help and they got him to the hospital and then he came back and said that he'd broke his leg. And now I think Uncle Robert is even cooler than Uncle Matthew because he let me sign his pot."

"Well, that's one thing," said John, his lips twitching.

"Don't you dare laugh, Bates, you arse."

"Robert, the children," Cora scolded.

Robert paid her no mind, glowering. Anna looked perplexed, still wrapped around Jasmine. John's mother looked disapproving. It seemed like the golden boy that she'd always had a soft spot for had gone down in her estimations for his stupidity. John could well imagine that Robert had had a good telling off from her, berating him for involving her precious grandchildren in something so silly and dangerous. And he couldn't help it. He simply couldn't contain his chuckles.

It seemed to be the catalyst for everyone else, and soon Robert was scowling around at everyone as they laughed at his misfortune.

"You're all sods, the lot of you," he said. "That's the last time I try and do something entertaining."

"Thank God," John quipped, and that only made everyone laugh harder. It was a long time before it petered out.

"Oh, heavens," said Cora at last, wiping her eyes. "I hope your weekend away was peaceful by comparison."

"It was," John agreed. "But we do have some news for you too."

Anna beamed at him, immediately making her way towards him. He shifted Jack on his knee so that there was room for Anna to perch, and Jasmine clambered up too, squirming her way between her mummy and her brother. It made for a very close squeeze, but John only held them all tighter. Sharing one last affectionate glance with Anna, he began to speak.

"You see…"


	10. This is my favourite song!

**A/N:** This was a bonus ficlet that I ended up writing for annambates. It fits in in the months after chapter one, and was decided by a random number generator.

I've not had much time recently to reply to reviews across all stories, but I will be getting back to that now. I enjoyed creating this little universe, and everyone's enthusiasm for it was definitely something that made me smile. Who knows, maybe I'll return to it again one day to fill in a few more gaps. But, for now, the collection is complete. Thank you to the people who submitted prompts, and to those who have read, reviewed, and favourited, both here and over on Tumblr! :)

* * *

 _"This is my favourite song!"_

* * *

John thought he loved everything about Anna. Others would sneer at him and turn up their noses, claiming that it was an impossibility, but he would remain stubbornly steadfast. He found the fact that she snored endearing. He practically fell over the cosmetics that she left at his home for when she stopped over, but that gave him a burst of pride rather than irritation, because they were reminders that somehow she had chosen _him_ , that he was the one that she wanted to spend her time with. He didn't care that she had bony hips, or that she had a small blemish near her eye—a childhood scar, no less—or breasts that she felt self-conscious about because she believed them to be too small, for he wasn't some stupid, immature little boy, hung up on a woman's appearance and not the things that really mattered, like courage or heart. But just let anyone _dare_ make any kind of disparaging comment about her. He would be on them like a lion; as far as he was concerned, there could be no woman more beautiful. He was certain that for as long as he lived, there would never be one thing about Anna Smith that didn't leave him breathless with awe for her.

But then he heard the song.

He didn't think anything of it at first. Bouncy and fast-paced, it was far from his usual cup of tea. He had a vague idea of who the singer was. He wasn't a complete dinosaur that he didn't have _some_ knowledge of the modern pop world. But the baby face and hairless, six-packed abdomen that most young girls would die for ( _"He's got a glorious body,"_ Anna had said, hastily adding, _"but he's got nothing on you,"_ to soothe his sore ego) did nothing for him, and so it faded into his disinterested periphery.

Besides, it wasn't a new song. Popular, yes, but popularity in the music industry seemed fleeting at best these days. He was sure that it wouldn't be long before it faded entirely into obscurity, not to be remembered for another twenty years.

It was then that he started to notice that Anna played the songa _lot_.

They were in her kitchen, cooking tea together when he initially noted it, even though it wasn't the first time he had heard it. As the opening bars of the song started to play, Anna squealed, reaching across to turn up the battered radio.

"I love this song!" she exclaimed, and started swaying her hips as she worked, singing under her breath. John rather appreciated the sight, and said nothing.

He continued to say nothing as it started to infiltrate everything. When Anna plugged her iPod into the car, it was on. She enjoyed cooking to it more often, claiming that the beat helped her to work faster. Worse, she seemed to want to _kiss_ to it, setting it going over the speakers and crawling seductively onto his lap. He was distracted enough by her warm mouth that he didn't notice it _too_ much, especially when she threaded her fingers through his hair in that way that she knew he loved.

But he simply had to draw the line when she wanted to use it to get in the mood.

"Absolutely not," he told her.

She pouted. "But why not? This is my favourite song!"

"It could be the Pope's favourite song for all the good it will do. What's sexy about this?"

"It's a song about lovers," she argued.

"If you want to have sex to a song, you're going to have to find a whole playlist of nice, smooth music. I can't work under these conditions."

It was one of the only times that Anna surrendered, obviously not caring to discover whether he was telling the truth or not. To make up for it, he tried triply hard to please her, smug when he left her trembling and gasping for breath, utterly limp.

Unfortunately, it seemed only to get worse from there. He'd start a conversation, halfway through realising that Anna hadn't been listening to a word that he'd been saying, a dreamy look on her face as she stared into the distance, lost in the lyrics of the song. He'd huff in dissatisfaction.

"You'd understand if you listened to the words," she was fond of saying, but he was adamant that he wouldn't. That wasn't for _him._

It came to a head at Robert and Cora's wedding anniversary party.

The evening so far had been wonderful. They'd talked and laughed with their friends, and Anna had been pulled away on several occasions to dance. John watched from a safe distance, smiling as he revelled in the fun that she was having. Every so often, her eyes would catch his from across the room, and his heart would leap in his chest. She looked beautiful, in a midnight blue dress that fell just short of the knee, the lack of straps showing off the lean muscle of her arms. Her hair tumbled down around her, a golden waterfall that he couldn't wait to have trickling all over his body. On an evening celebrating love, he was certain that it could only end one way. He lost himself to his fantasies as she danced, and when she returned to him, she was flushed and so very happy. Sliding into the seat next to him, she picked up her glass of wine and took several large gulps.

"You've worked up quite the thirst," he teased.

"Dancing is thirsty work, Mr. Bates. Of course, you'd know it if you'd accompany me on the dance floor."

"I said I'd compromise and give you the last dance."

"And if it's a slow one at that."

"You make me sound like a bit of an arsehole."

"Oh, I'd say you're grumpy more than an arsehole."

"But you love me anyway?"

"What do you think?" she said, nudging her nose against his.

"I think you do, but it's always nice to be reminded."

"Then I love you, John Bates. Very, very much."

He was smiling when she leaned in, and her mouth lingered against his. He could taste the sharp tang of wine as he moved his hand to cup her face, shielding the less-than-chaste aspect of their kiss from prying eyes, glad that they were partially hidden in the shadows. When they parted he lifted his arm up, and she snuggled underneath, resting her head on his shoulder and trading pecks with him every so often.

Until the final bars of the current song faded away, to be replaced by ones that were all too horribly familiar. Anna jerked into a sitting position with a laugh, and he groaned, slumping further down into his seat.

"Oh, John, dance with me," she begged, reaching for his hand and twining their fingers together.

"I think I need to refill my drink now," he replied, only half-teasing. She scowled at him.

"You know how much I love this song," she said.

"I wouldn't be able to keep up dancing to this. I can barely manage a sway."

"So we'll sway to this. We've always gone at our own pace."

"Anna…"

"Why are you so against this song?" she pouted. "It's lovely."

"I've heard it twenty times too many, that's the problem. Baby Face's voice got irritating very quickly."

"Please tell me you're not jealous."

"Of a boy barely out of school? Don't be silly. Besides, you said yourself, he can't compete with this meat." John patted his stomach in emphasis, which earned him a reluctant giggle. He took it as a victory. "I know, I'm an old man. I just don't see the appeal, that's all."

"You don't see the appeal?" she said quietly. "Then perhaps I can show you."

The hairs on the back of John's neck tingled as she leaned in, wrapping her arms around him and moving her mouth to his ear. Her lips brushed against him as she began to sing the words, just about audible over the loud music. With her that close to him, John couldn't help but pay attention.

And she was right. The poppy beat might have been over the top, but the words were beautiful, a song of longing and lovers who would do anything to be together. How could he have overlooked that?

"You see?" Anna said when she pulled away.

"I suppose," he said nonchalantly, not quite wanting to concede defeat all the way. In their seven month relationship, Anna had won nine out of ten of their battles, and he wasn't in the mood to yield entirely. "Is that what made you like it in the first place?"

For the first time, Anna pinked.

"Well…no," she admitted.

Now John's curiosity was piqued. "What do you mean?"

"Do you remember where we were the first time we heard it?"

John frowned, trying to cast his mind back. It had been a while ago now. "Were we in that nice Italian restaurant?"

"Yes," she beamed, and he was glad that he'd remembered right. "We'd gone to the cinema and then you took me out to eat. You said that you were the luckiest bloke in the world to have me, and you leaned across the table to kiss me in front of everyone. I thought my heart might burst, and I resolved then and there that I couldn't keep my feelings for you in check any longer. This song was playing when I made the decision to tell you that I loved you."

"I had no idea," said John. If the details of the song were hazy, then the memory of that night certainly wasn't. They'd taken a walk around the town afterwards, hand in hand, and then he'd driven her home. He'd walked her to the doorstep, and that was when she'd pulled him to her, her blue eyes burning, to lay her heart bare at his feet. He'd known that she'd fancied him rather a lot—it wasn't vain of him to say, when she'd said at Christmas that she'd started to see him as the only man she could share her life with—but having that knowledge and _hearing_ her say those words to him were two different things entirely. He'd stumbled his way through his own declaration, and they'd both cried happy tears as she'd pulled him inside and towards the bedroom. Their lovemaking, good before, had become even more special.

John came back to himself now, aware of where his thoughts were taking him. He cleared his throat.

"I had no idea," he repeated.

"So now do you understand why I love it so much? Why it's my favourite? It reminds me of us every time I hear it. Of how it was the catalyst for us saying those three words."

"I understand," he whispered. Truly listening to the lyrics and hearing her story, he could finally begin to see the appeal. "Now, may I have the honour of this dance, Miss Smith? I know we've missed half the song, but better late than never."

Anna's radiant smile was all the answer he needed, and she all but dragged him to the dance floor. Wrapping her arms around him, she rested her head against his chest and began to sway, and he followed her lead, feathering kisses to her hair and breathing in its heavenly scent as they turned in circles, in a bubble all of their own.

More than a year later, when they were making preparations for their intimate reception party, John told Robert that that was the song he wanted for his first dance with Anna. Robert cast him a worried look, and John knew that he was concerned that it would only aggravate his still healing knee.

"I wouldn't have thought it was really you," Robert said carefully. "It's a bit…faster than you like."

"Perhaps so," he responded, thinking back to that day that felt like a lifetime ago now, when they'd rocked together in their own world, innocent to all of the troubles that had lain ahead, "but it's special to us, Robert. It's our song."

Robert's raised eyebrow told of his disbelief, but John chose to ignore it, remaining firm.

It had, after all, become his favourite song too.


End file.
